


I Can Hardly Breathe

by Flatfootmonster



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Angst, Evak are endgame, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Overdosing, PPD/PND
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 82,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flatfootmonster/pseuds/Flatfootmonster
Summary: Appearances are rarely the truth of the matter; sometimes, we float along submerged to the nose in our scenarios because we don't know what else to do.When is it time to give up? Is it even giving up if the whole damn thing is already bust?Sometimes it takes something else, something new, to prove that there is more—thereshouldbe more to life.But do you dare to take that chance?
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim & Isak Valtersen, Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen, Even Bech Næsheim/Sonja (SKAM)
Comments: 564
Kudos: 304





	1. Again

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have been between projects recently—it's made it pretty hard to focus on my WIP's (I am finishing them). Naturally, because my brain likes to screw me over, I started something new. I was basing it on the premise of making a story from small, bitesize moments, as that would be easier. Yet, here we are, 30k deep and only halfway done. 
> 
> I have this thing about Evak that eventually—no matter what would have happened if minor or major details changed in their lives—they would still find each other. Apparently I'm obsessed with writing those scenarios. Or different universes, should I say. In this universe, Even and Sonja married, so I shouldn't really need to tag infidelity as it is implied (but who is being unfaithful? *dramatic drum roll*). I really hate tagging _too_ much because I don't like telling the story before it unfolds (not that I take myself seriously at all) however there are some topics I cover that may be triggering so those I have added—please check before proceeding. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and I am gonna finish everything I start. I will. I promise. LOL.
> 
> Love, Becs

###  Again

“No. She can’t leave—apparently,” Even stated into the phone, jaw firming. The sigh on the other end of the line was pure irritation and exasperation. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to duck out on his business partner. At this stage in their venture, it wasn’t advantageous.

_“Even, can’t you talk to her? This is the second time this month. We can’t—”_

“I know,” he huffed. “ _I know._ I’ve talked to her so many—” he sighed, head tilting back to gaze at the grey thick clouds above his head. He wasn’t going to air his marital business like this—not when he was frustrated enough to call her outside of her name. “I’ll talk to her again.”

It was no good. They had talked. And talked. Then talked some more. Yet there was no other option but to try again.

_“Dude, I need you on this. You’re the artist. I can’t talk on your behalf forever, it won’t get us business.”_

Even was nodding. He knew it all. Sonja knew it, too. But she didn’t take his career seriously, never had, not compared to her own. She used to call, to tell him she‘d be running late, or that a meeting had been pushed back, or a hearing had overrun. Now it was just texting: no explanation, just orders that Even had to be home.

_"What about Lotte?"_

"She quit."

Mikael scoffed. " _Another nanny quit on you? I wonder why._ "

There was a valid reason for his best friends scorn just as there was no mistaking the corner that Even could feel at his back. “It’s going to get better, Mikael. I promise.”

_“It has to.”_

* * *


	2. Tempest

###  Tempest

“Mum, you didn’t have to call—” he cut off waiting for her coughing fit to subside. “You need to make sure you look after your chest.” It was always the cough that lingered with her when she caught a cold, she said it was where she held her stress. Isak’s mum stressed a lot. 

_“I will. I will. But I wanted to say well done, and that I’m proud of you. Four years is something to celebrate. Do you have plans?”_

Isak frowned at the pinboard in front of his desk in his small room. It was like any other dorm room: a single bed, white painted brick walls, a desk, closet and a small fridge. It was all he needed now. 

“Mum, generally when students go out they get wasted. Anyway, I just want to study.”

There was a pause. He could feel her fretting. _“Don’t your friends want to go and see a movie? There are other things to do than drink.”_ It was huffed, her personal grudge with alcohol would be a lifelong one. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There wasn’t a way you could explain to your own mother that when you are a handful of years older than every other first-year student it meant you didn’t really fit in. Especially if you didn’t drink. But Isak liked his space, it didn’t bother him. Her, on the other hand, she would probably drive through the night to campus to grab kids by the scruff of the neck and ask them why they didn’t want to play with her son. 

“Actually we have something planned. Friday,” he lied. “There’s a play the drama students are putting on: The Tempest.”

_“Shakespeare? Oh, you will love that, darling.”_

Humming, Isak looked for a way out of the conversation. He really did want to study as much as he hated being deceitful. He’d spent the best part of two years lying to her until she’d discovered the truth: on a hard bench in a cold hospital while Isak was having his stomach pumped. 

“But I just have to be careful: student living.” 

_“You need some money?”_

Isak sighed. He did, but not from her. He’d taken too much from her already. But he was working on that. 

“I have it covered.”

_“Did you have a look at sitter jobs? You’re so good with kids.”_

There was no way you could escape the irritation that sat on your shoulders when your parents told you to do something you were already doing—or had planned to do. He’d applied, over and over. Something would come up. For once her words weren’t motherly bias. He was good with kids, for whatever reason. The qualifications were something he had, maybe the only thing to his name, it shouldn’t be hard to get a job. Really, Isak only wanted simplicity. After re-discovering his urge to learn and redoing his basic qualifications, all he wanted was a degree with a good career blooming from it—that and as much ground between him and his past as was possible. 

“I’m on it, mum. Anyway, I have an early lecture tomorrow. I’ll call you Sunday.” 

There was another pause, he knew she was deliberating over what words were going to be just right—to satiate her need to build up her son whilst not pushing him into a non-responsive mood. _“Four years is a big deal, love. Be easy on yourself, OK? You’re doing so well.”_

“OK,” he answered in the most neutral voice he could muster, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will. Love you.”

_“I love you too, Isak. Sunday?”_

“Sunday.”

* * *


	3. Ninety-Five, Right?

###  Ninety-Five, Right?

Even’s eyes flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece and then back towards the dining room table, resisting the urge to drum his fingers against pine in anticipated impatience. He adjusted his calm facade; the last thing he wanted was to be shitty for his kids. Christina was eating contentedly, legs swinging wildly as she slurped up a long strand of linguini. Bo was finger painting with tomato sauce, his high chair tray the canvas. Every now and then he would decide to pluck a slice of carrot or courgette and pop it into his mouth, humming like a food connoisseur. Whenever he did feel shitty, one look at them would make it better, despite the off-key and insistent whistling that came from his daughter or the impossible stains his son had managed to get on every single item of clothing he currently sat in. 

“Dad, what time are they coming?” His daughter's eyes were piercing, pricking holes in his pretence. She was the sharpest person he knew. 

Even shrugged. “Usually they run late, right?”

Christina grinned and nodded before her amusement morphed into a thoughtful frown. “And what happened to Lotte?”

She would keep hammering at questions when the answers received were weighed out to be untruthful to her mind. Even was quietly confident that she knew what had happened to their latest ex-nanny, there had been enough come and go. But if Even was to be truthful, then he would end up saying some not-so-nice things—completely unintentionally. 

It was a pattern. The first few months would be nothing but positivity until comfort settled in. Once that point had been reached all manner of frustration would be taken out on the nanny, and there was a limit to the amount of shit someone took before they’d had enough. For Lotte, it had been the threat to dock her wages simply because Bo had gotten grass stains on a new pair of chinos. He tried to have understanding and patience. Sonja was a good mother, he wouldn’t take that away from her. But there was only a certain amount you could do for a control freak who wasn’t around much but desperately wanted to rule over every little goddamn thing. 

"She moved away." Even's ire multiplied with the lie that forced its way past his teeth. He'd been lying a lot lately. 

Unscrupulous blue eyes were unblinking. Christina wasn't buying it. "Where to?" 

"Sweetheart, I don't know. She doesn't have to explain—" Even was literally saved by the bell yet he frowned all the same. It was only five past six. Usually, the temps were late. Mikael would be happy because for once this week he'd be at the studio on time. "That's them," he sighed, rising from the table as Bo squealed in delight—he'd turned his bowl upside down and was using his spoon as a drum stick to beat an irregular tune. 

Losing himself to mental preparations, he made his way to the door. With time to spare, he would have the opportunity to organise the lighting at the studio. Mikael would fiddle with it in the day, and it would always be slightly off. When it came to his art, Even was a perfectionist. The rest of the venue— music, food, drinks— Mikael had down to a T. His thoughts screeched to a halt when he opened the door to find what he wasn't expecting. Perhaps he wouldn't get there early. 

Hesitating, Even took in the caller. A few inches shorter than him, the guy wore a cap, blond hair flicked out from under the rim. Apart from that, and some nondescript jeans and a pullover, the only other thing he saw was green eyes. It was the surprise itself that made it hard to breathe. This wasn't what Even was expecting. 

"Can I help you?" He asked warily. 

The guy shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the number that was next to the house door. "This is ninety-five, right?" 

Even nodded.

The guy was frowning. "You need a sitter—nanny, whatever," he shrugged. 

He was the nanny? "Yeah, sure. Sorry. I was expecting—" 

"A woman?" The guy smirked. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at his toes, letting out a sigh. "If you have a problem, they'll send someone else, but it'll take a while—" 

Even cut him off, holding up a hand and shaking his head. By the sounds of this guy's tone, he was used to being turned away. "No, it's fine. You're early, too." He smiled, stepping back to gesture him in. If he looked awkward it was because that was exactly how he felt. The agency would have given a name, but he was on autopilot now when he called, adding to that he’d been finishing dinner with Bo on his hip, Even just hadn’t been paying attention. They provided quality childcare and that’s what this was. Assuming someone’s gender by the role they took wasn’t very progressive. Even’s cheeks began to warm. 

The guy frowned, but followed, stepping hesitantly in and casting his gaze around. “Yeah. I like to be early,” he muttered, his focus back on his feet again. “I’ll just, um…here.” He began to toe-off his shoes.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to.”

“No, you have a nice home,” his hand moved to gesture to the cream rug that centred the living room, where the entrance hall led into. “I don’t mind.” 

Even smiled. One of his socks had dancing avocados on them, the other black and white stripes. “I’m Even,” he said, remembering that introductions were a polite part of conversation. “The kids are through there,” Even added, pointing to the arch that separated the living space and the dining room. Christina was already peering around the wall. Bo still banged out an aimless tune. He opened his mouth, intending to introduce the kids but the guy spoke first. 

“Christina and Bo.” A grin was exchanged for Even’s surprise. “I read the notes they sent me: mealtimes, routine, bedtimes—the basics.”

Even’s eyebrows rose. The process was that temps, and indeed permanents, were sent their file. Until now he hadn’t met one of them that had read it past the address. “Awesome.”

He held his hand out. “I’m Isak.” Even took it, his grip was warm. “Is there anything you want to know about me?” he asked once the gesture was done. 

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Even tried to think. None of the nannies had been this thorough or forthcoming before. “I mean, I know the agency does all the checks—I know you’re gonna be great. And if I’m honest, you won’t get out of here without Christina needling you with a million questions. Maybe I should leave it to her.”

Isak was grinning again. The thought of an inquisitive kid not a hindrance for him. “Sounds good to me. I’ll help her with a write up of the evening.” 

Smiling, Even found himself warming to Isak already. “You have no idea how right you are about that.” They usually did get a verbal report of the evening. “But, erm…” He should probably get back to business so he could get to _his_ business. “Is there anything you want to know?”

“Sounds like your daughter will probably be able to tell me how it all goes if I can’t figure something out. Worst comes to the worst, your numbers are in the notes.” 

“Cool,” Even was running out of words that meant good. His vocabulary was curiously absent. “You’ll need to know where the keys are—just in case.” Turning to the key hooks by the front door, he stopped in his tracks. They were empty except for the last one holding his car and house set. Sometimes the spares ended up in coat pockets if either himself or Sonja ran out on an errand. First, he checked his own, and when that was fruitless he checked her camel trench coat. They were there, wrapped in a crisp piece of paper. They tangled together as he pulled the keys free. “Here,” he said, hanging it on a hook. “The one with the blue top is for the front, and the other…” he trailed off, looking at the paper. It was a receipt for the cinema. It was from last week, Thursday. The day she was supposed to be at therapy. Wine, popcorn, two tickets...

Even frowned at the black print. She was becoming really obvious. If she kept on, pretending nothing was going on, it would force _him_ to say something. That was probably exactly what she wanted. 

“The other one?”

Snapping out of the quick and foul mood that had descended on him, Even cleared his throat. Keys. “The other is for the back door. It’s already locked,” he muttered, not quite shaking off the grimness. He needed to get out of there. 

Glancing back at the dining room, Christina was standing in the archway, arms folded over her chest as she leant against the wall. “Let me introduce you to them, then I’ll head out.”

* * *


	4. Slowly-Slowly

###  _Slowly-slowly_

Isak smiled as Bo's hands slapped at the water. He wore a bubble crown on blond curls. There were no two ways about it, the kid was cute. A terrible drummer, but he could get away with it because: cute. Then he grabbed at a toy merman, maroon tail shimmering, and zoomed him through the air like an aeroplane, making the appropriate noises of course. In this case, it was a goose-like squawk. 

"He usually hates his hair getting wet." 

Isak peered over his shoulder, trying to suppress a smile. Funnily enough, the questions that were promised hadn't happened yet, just a hard stare; he was a puzzle Christina was trying to figure out. Kids like her just needed space. She was clever, that was evident. Beyond her age in her speech and reading, from what he could gather. And when mum and dad ran busy lives, it wasn't unusual for them to develop a standoffish nature that seemed unnatural for a child. 

"It's all about the magic," he said with a wink. 

She frowned harder. "No such thing as magic." 

Isak gasped. "What do you mean? No such thing as magic?" 

She shrugged. "No magic. No Santa. No tooth fairy. No stork." 

It was Isak's turn for bewilderment. " _Stork_?" 

"Yeah. The baby stork. It's not real. Sex makes babies." 

Isak had problems choking down a shocked _Jesus._ An astute, blunt, and sceptical eight-year-old, still lacking the knowledge about which conversations she could have and with who. 

"Well, I hate to call you out but I have proof that magic exists." 

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that?" 

"I'm an elf." He stated, turning back to Bo and, grabbing a small cup, he _slowly-slowly_ began to rinse the bubbles from his hair. "How else do you think I can do this?" Bo was giggling happily at the aeroplane-merman who was now covered in bubbles, too. 

" _Plaannnee_ ," he squealed before the goose honks were back. 

There was a pause before small feet made their way across the tiles. Isak carried on with his work as the sound of an eight-year-old body sat heavily on the tiles next to him. It was impossible not to smile.

"Elves are small." 

Isak shook his head. "There are different kinds. I'm one of the giants." He looked to her to find a blank and unconvinced expression levelled at him. 

"Giant elf?" 

"Yep." 

She snorted, it was a dainty disdainful noise. Christina was a character and then some. "That's silly." 

Shrugging, Isak shook his head. "I don't make the rules." 

There was a hum of consideration. "You do have a pointy nose." 

Isak made a less dainty snort. " _What_?" 

"Elves. They have pointy noses. You have one. _That's_ evidence." 

Subconsciously he rubbed at the tip of his nose. "Yes, well, there you are. Proved it for me. What a clever girl you are." 

Her pursing lips fought a hard battle before a lopsided grin appeared. "I didn't say I believed you." 

"I guess I'll have to do more magic then." 

Christina looked now at her brother, some of her intensity at ease. Bo was making the merman and rubber dogfish fight now. Or they were playing hide and seek. Either way the fish was winning. 

"How old are you?" 

“Older than my teeth, but younger than my tongue.”

Christina tutted at him. “That’s what my nana says. Tell me.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Isak glanced at this small but formidable child. “One hundred and fifty-six, next month.” Her jaw set as brows drew together and she snorted, about to open her mouth and argue further, Isak cut to the chase. “Twenty-four.”

A thoughtful look replaced the impatience. “That’s three times me.”

“It is.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“The agency, they send me notes before I get here. I need to know whether I’m dealing with elves or dwarves or straight-up human kids. Sometimes I get dragons,” he laughed as she tried in vain to stop from joining in. Instead, her hand shot out and she pushed against his shoulder.

“ _You’re_ silly,” she declared before chewing her lip. Isak could see her considering a few threads of questioning, but what she decided on was surprising. “What do you do? Apart from this,” she asked, gesturing at how Isak was rubbing soap between his hands before slathering it over a play focused Bo—he was searching for the merman, lost underneath bubbles. 

“What makes you think I do something other than this.”

“Most of the nannies do — especially the ones that are here once or twice.”

Isak pursed his lips before answering. He didn’t mind telling her about himself, in fact, it was probably how she made herself feel safe. “I’m a student.”

There was another pause. “Aren’t you too old? My mum says if I study all the way to uni, like her, I’ll finish at twenty-one. That’s _thirteen_ years more school work,” she sounded incredulous before refocusing on Isak, “Or are you doing _more_ school?”

Isak chuckled. “I took a few years off.” 

“To do what?”

“Elf stuff,” he smirked at her as she rolled her eyes.

“What are you studying?” 

“I’m studying to become a teacher.” 

Christina took her time to process that, too. “I think you’d be a good teacher. And sometimes we need a break before we do things. When my dad finishes work in the day, he comes home and has a break and then goes out to do things at night—with uncle Miky. He says he gets tired if he doesn’t.” She frowned. “Although I don’t know if being at home is a break, cos he ends up cooking or hoovering.” Her focus returned to her point. “Anyway, sometimes you _need_ a break.” 

Isak found himself nodding, somehow absolved in a small way by her words. “Did I tell you that you’re smart?” Her grin was not restrained this time as she nodded. But now his own curiosity was piqued—it was common for him to want to know how the kids he looked after felt about their home lives. It was easier to understand. “And your mum? She needs breaks, too, right?”

Christina gathered both shoulders up before letting them drop in a shrug. “She’s so busy, she’s not back before bedtime most nights. I think she gets breaks,” Christina mused, looking inward. “When she’s here she smiles a lot at her phone, I think her phone is her break.”

Focussing on rinsing suds from Bo’s back, Isak let that subject be. It wasn’t unusual for a married couple to have busy professions, leaving them with little family time. And it was done with good motives normally—to make sure the kids had what they needed and a good education, as well as holidays twice a year. That didn’t change the fact that to every situation there were pros and cons. In this case, it would usually mean the kids having less quality time with their parents; work-induced exhaustion did not make child-orientated time all that easy. But who was going to be the judge over which way a family _should_ run? It certainly wouldn’t be himself. 

“What else do the notes say?” she asked, fingers trailing in the water now. Bo had found the merman and was using the cup Isak had to wash him clean of the suds. The merman said _thank you_ in wibbly-wobbly noises, provided by Bo. 

Isak frowned. “Notes?”

She tutted again. “About _us_.”

“Oh. Routines, allergies, activities, meals—just a little about you so I can do a better job.”

“What does it say about me?” Her gaze pierced him. 

It was his turn to shrug now. “That you are above average intellectually, but that you are independent in entertaining yourself. I think it said your favourite food was sausages and mash?”

Christina nodded perfunctorily. “ _With_ peas.”

“That’s right. But there’s not too much, just that you are very capable.”

She was gazing at her fingers making patterns in the bubbles. “Yup,” she admitted. Although it didn’t sound as though she was thrilled with the fact, more resigned to it.

“And there’s a small chance you might be an elf, too.”

Her eyes were on him once more, that increasingly endearing grimace that said she was fighting a laugh. A small, wet hand pushed against his shoulder again. “You are _very_ silly.”

Isak grinned his best grin. “Only for the prettiest, smartest, of elves.” She giggled into her palm, and her cheeks pinked. That was progress, Isak decided. “And what does the prettiest, smartest elf do to entertain herself?”

“Reading.”

“I _love_ reading.”

“You do?” She peered up at him, expecting a trap no doubt. Or a joke. But he was sincere. 

“I do. I will read anything. What book are you on right now?”

“Matilda,” she said breathily, already brimming with a passion she was eager to share. “I’ve read it so many times. It’s my favourite— _one_ of my favourites.”

“And you read before bed?”

She nodded. “I read until I fall asleep. I’m usually up when dad gets back—or mum.”

“Well,” Isak began, grabbing a towel to wrap around a thoroughly washed Bo, who was yawning so widely he had several chins. “When I’m done here, would you read to me?” Isak couldn’t help but laugh as Christina accepted in a burst of excitement. She shot to her feet and began to inform him of all the details of the plot and characters up until the point she had stopped at last night. 

* * *


	5. Multi-Tasking

### Multi-tasking

Even tried not to look at her. It didn’t matter much anyway. Between spoons that were expertly flown towards Bo’s mouth, her own toast, and a phone, Sonja didn’t have leftover attention. The reason his eyes avoided her was that every glance urged a question closer to being aired: _How was work?_ Except that _work_ would be emphasised in such a way that Christina would catch onto the snark. So, breakfast remained a quiet process.

Letting his gaze drift to his daughter, Even broke away from his ire to ponder at something completely different. Quiet was an anomaly with Chris—especially after someone new had been in the house. She more or less saw it as her duty to inform everyone of every single detail of the interloper. All that was apparent today was that Christina was in deep thought while moving the spoon around aimlessly in her porridge. There was a half-smile on her face. Secret smiles were usually Sonja’s domain. 

“I’ve gotta say, I’m disappointed,” he mused, gaining her attention. 

Her brow furrowed as she focused on him. “What?” 

“I figured I would have heard all about the new nanny already.”

“Isak,” she corrected with a sniff.

“That’s right.” His eyebrows rose as her cheeks pinked. Despite his complaint, Even had figured a good bit out about last night already, considering he'd arrived home first last night. The house had been exceptionally clean, quiet and dim: lights off except for the upstairs landing. Both the kids had been washed and dressed in their nightclothes, Bo was fast asleep in his small bed clutching a bath toy. The surprising thing had been to find Christina sleeping, too. Isak had been sprawled on a beanbag, on the landing, reading one of her books—Matilda, he thought. Apparently, they’d taken it in turns to read until Christina had fallen asleep—by which point Isak was hooked on the story. 

“He’s nice,” she stated in a finite manner. 

Even could feel Sonja’s attention being drawn out. “You like him?” she asked, sounding as surprised as was right given that this was Christina, and particular wasn’t quite the word when it came to her and nannies. It had taken over a month and several pranks for her to become friendly with Lotte. 

Christina nodded, spooning food into her mouth. “He’s an elf,” she added through a mouthful of oats.

That brought a grin, despite confusion marring Sonja’s features. “An elf?”

Another nod. “ _Apparently_ a magical elf. Bo didn’t cry when Isak washed his hair.”

A truce was met as Even and Sonja glanced at each other, then down to the other end of the table towards Bo. He’d decided to feed himself by this point and it was likely a new change of clothes would be needed. “What did Isak do?” Even asked, falling only minimally short of mystified.

But Christina just shrugged again. “Magic.”

“So, you believe in magic now?” 

“ _No_ ,” she replied scornfully. “But what other explanation is there?” Her questioning look took in both Sonja and himself before she sniffed again, her point made. There had been no single time that Bo _hadn’t_ cried having his hair washed. “Exactly.” 

Shaking his head, Even chuckled to himself. Isak had apparently made an impression on Chris. And his own experience of the man hadn’t been bad either: easy to talk to, kind, motivated, and a sense of humour. If the kids got on with him, there wasn’t really a negative to be found. 

Sonja read his mind, which was an exceptionally rare occurrence the last few years, and asked, "Did you like him, too?" 

Looking down at the coffee that was his breakfast, Even pondered how to answer that. "I embarrassed myself at first. I wasn't sure who he was; I was expecting a woman." 

She tutted at him, head shaking before a short wry laugh emerged. "Men can look after kids. You should know that, of all people." 

Even shrugged. Now the heat was on him, he could answer without Sonja perhaps feeling the new nanny might challenge her position or authority in some way. Apparently Even liked Isak enough to want him to come back. "Anyway, I think he's good: did his research, sorted the house and kids out, no tears," he made a hand gesture that made its own light approval. 

"So, a trial?" 

"If you want. We'll have to ask what his schedule allows." 

Nodding, Sonja took another bite of toast before glancing down at her phone as it vibrated. One corner of her mouth was tugged at, a secret smile. "We should see if he can start tomorrow night. I have therapy, remember?" 

All he could do was hum as he drank from his cup. If he didn't fill his mouth with bitter coffee, acrid words would follow. He wanted to ask whether she'd broached the subject of sleeping arrangements with her therapist, whether it was healthy to sleep on a trundle in Christina's room every night she came home late. Why she wouldn't just use the guest room, he didn't know. Or had she asked the therapist whether they thought it was helpful to stay silent in a situation where she couldn't stomach to share a bed with him since Bo was born. Even would never force himself on her, or touch her where it wasn’t welcome for that matter. She'd been recoiling from his hugs for long enough that self-loathing had set in. By this point in their marriage, Even simply tried not to look at her wrong. 

But perhaps she was seeing the wrong type of _therapist_. His own smile was grim as he pondered that particular notion, and not for the first time. 

"Should I call, or do you want to?"


	6. Second-Hand

### Second-Hand

"I think you already know where everything is, right?" 

Isak nodded, trying not to get caught up in whatever nervous energy warped itself around this woman. _Sonja._ The coat over her arm had been re-folded twice already, and it was three times that she'd fished in her bag to pull out a set of keys before nodding and dropping back where they'd come from. Was it a new nanny in the house that made her nervous? That explanation didn't quite satisfy Isak.

"If I struggle, I'm sure this little lady will help out." He sent a wink in Christina's direction, as she sat on the stairs chin resting on her knees. She looked about ready to burst with both excitement and irritation—her cheeks blown out every few moments like a pufferfish—that her mum was taking so long to wrap a scarf around her neck. Bo was building a tower on the rug with alphabet blocks, oblivious to everyone and everything. 

Sonja eyed her daughter. "She likes you," she murmured, before smiling at Isak. "I'm starting to believe in this magic business myself." 

"Oh _that_ ," Isak laughed. "Well let's see if I can do as good a job this time. I may have set my standards too high first time around." 

"Nonsense. Some people are just natural at it." The words caused Sonja to frown in sombre thought before the topic was changed. "And you're sure this won't interfere with your studies?" 

Shaking his head, Isak prepared to reassure for the third time. "I'm positive. My social life is the opposite of busy, and I can study here once the kids are asleep. It doesn't cut into any lesson time," he assured with a shrug. "It works for me. In fact, it’s better because it’s quiet. The dorms are noisy—at _all_ times.” 

"It's Orsen Halls, right? On Wells Road." Isak nodded. They must have thought themselves clever when they'd named it. "My boss, he has a daughter at your Uni—a first year. She stays there—I don't know why she doesn't live at home," she mused with a weak laugh then her head shook as if dispelling that line of thought. "Her name is Kris—A Kristina, too. Weird, right? Only it's spelt with a K. You know her?"

Lips parted, Isak paused to process the question—seemingly random. But perhaps not, it wasn't strange for people to figure out if new acquaintances also knew some of the same people from other circles. "No. But I don't really socialise all that much. And It's a big building."

Chewing her lip she studied him before nodding. "It was just a thought." But there was no mild disappointment found that was usually present when someone failed to make an improbable connection. "Anyway, you just let us know if your shifts start to interfere with studies, OK?" 

"I promise." 

Sonja nodded, happy with the result, then made her way to the door. "It's just therapy but, um—" She smoothed the material of her coat flat where it lay over her arm once more before fingering the buttons. "It’s good for me to spend some time alone after—thinking. Usually, I walk along the canal." She laughed again, nervous this time as the explanation was offered. "I hope that's OK." 

Isak tried to work his way through the justification that she in no way needed to give to him of all people. "That's fine." He pushed away perplexity, stumbling to a grin. "Everyone needs a break, someone very clever told me that," he added, glancing at Christina who looked all too pleased with herself. 

"Thank you," Sonja said, slow and cautious, not knowing quite what to do with the second-hand absolution that came from her daughters own wisdom. Of course, she wouldn't know that. She smiled again, standing straighter. "There's wine in the fridge if you want when they're all wrapped up." 

Nodding was the only response to that offer. "That's very kind of you."

"And food. If you're hungry, do help yourself. Even is pretty good in the kitchen." 

The small lecherous part of Isak’s mind mused that that was probably not the only place he was _good_ in or at. It really wasn't professional to have those thoughts about your employer, especially in his scenario. Not that Isak had had any thoughts at all about easy smiles and smooth voices. 

But Food. Food was an offer Isak may take her up on.

* * *


	7. Light Source

### Light Source

It was brighter this time when Even got home. Letting himself in, he saw the muted orange glow from the upstairs landing, but light spilt through the dining room arch, it made a sea of gold on the living room floor. Just like before, everything seemed pristine. Quiet and still, a moment had been captured in amber; a perfect peace. 

Unwilling to disturb the calm, Even slid off his shoes before treading a careful path across the sea, towards the light source. Peering around the archway, Even could only see the top of Isak's head, fingers pushed deep into curls as he rested his cheek on his palm. Isak's focus was entirely on the book beneath his nose. It wasn't Matilda today, by the look of it this was a textbook. There was a plate to one side, completely cleared of whatever had been on it, sauce smeared, probably wiped off with bread if the crumbs were anything to go by. Just a tall tumbler of water accompanied him, the fingers of his free hand dancing over the clear surface, tracing patterns in condensation. 

"No Dahl today?" A tide of guilt overwhelmed Even at intruding. Isak apparently did exactly what Christina would do often: getting lost in a book and becoming oblivious to the world outside. From the reactions that followed his overly loud question, Isak had no idea Even was home, let alone stood less than five meters away. 

Jolting upright, he only grasped the glass in time to save it from toppling over in his surprise. His eyes were wide and face pale when he looked up. "Shit—sorry. _Sorry_. I don't normally swear. I just—I didn't hear," his hand gestured at the book. "Sorry," he repeated. His gaze darted around from book to glass to Even and back to the book, like a bouncy ball let loose in a narrow hall. He half patted the glass, looking as though he were about to apologise to that, too. 

Even held up a palm, shaking his head. "It’s my fault. I didn't mean to creep up on you." 

"No. No. I was lost. You weren't creeping—I'm sure." He closed the book and smoothed the cover down, fingers working as jittery as his words had been to flatten out a dogeared corner. Isak was transformed from a serene, focused owl into a nervous, restless rabbit—as if reading was a crime that Even was going to reprimand him for. 

"Getting lost is something Christina knows how to do. You guys are similar," he replied with a smile. It seemed to ease Isak. Yet that ease was deftly undone as Even began to move around the table. "You ate," he added, picking up the plate. 

Isak reached out a futile hand as Even took it, turning towards the kitchen, headed for the dishwasher. "I could have done—" 

"It’s fine. You already do more than enough." 

A huffed sigh was released in reply, Isak wanted to argue. But he dropped the defence. "Thanks," he muttered. "Sonja said you were a good cook—and that I was welcome to try. Being the poor student that I am, it was temptation enough." There was that grin that Even was beginning to find endearing. It was crooked, but it seemed to fit Isak. The lip lick would come next—it was weird how quickly you could pick up on someone's mannerisms. 

But there was something that shadowed that thought. Even leant against the kitchen side and crossed his arms over his chest. "She said I was a good cook?" Isak nodded. "Wow. A compliment," he smirked to himself. That was one for the books. Isak chewed his lip, looking down at the textbook again, probably feeling awkward from Even's rarely released snark. Grabbing a seat, Even plonked himself down at the table hoping to dispel the negativity. "So?" 

Blinking, Isak stared at him in confusion. "So?" 

"What did you think?" 

"The food?" 

Even nodded. "I have a really fragile ego, by the way—in completely unrelated news." He smiled wider when Isak laughed. 

"In that case, it was the _best_ food I've had," he paused for a dramatic effect that Even seemed to know already, " _all week_." It was Even's turn to laugh. "No, really, it was delicious. Is the bread homemade?" 

"Not enough hours in the day. It's from a bakery near my studio. But I do make really good focaccia. I'll show you sometime." 

He nodded before a frown creased his brow. "Studio?" 

"I paint." 

“Like an artist?”

“ _Just_ like an artist,” he teased with a grin. Isak blushed, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“I’m not artistic. Even my stickmen are deformed.” The self aimed jest was unsure, just like Isak. Stopping and starting into comfort before he seemed to remember himself and grew shy. It was endearing, Even supposed. But bosses could be intimidating, and he supposed Isak might see him as his that. 

“I think everyone is artistic in some way, perhaps not in the classical sense.”

Isak looked thoughtful before shrugging. “I can make leaky teapots with modelling clay.”

“There you go,” Even, nudging at Isak’s shoulder with his hand, he felt as tense as a tree. “Maybe I’ll get a wheel at the studio. You can come and throw some pottery.”

There was a grunt of laughter before a reply came, confidence firming in him. “I would probably throw it in a different way than you’re imagining.”

Even hummed, that sounded amusing to him. “Sounds like fun. And art is supposed to be fun.”

“Where's the studio?” Green eyes flitted to him for a moment before dropping to his hands, studying the book as his fingers continued to pluck at the folded corner. 

“Just off Main Street: Caprice Grove. We used our imagination and called it The Caprice. It works in a way; we use it as a studio and gallery in the day and a lounge at night.”

“Sounds pretty cool. Posh?” 

“I guess. It wasn’t the intention but putting art and lounge together,” he shrugged. “It means there’s a pretty wealthy clientele in any case. I was thinking of starting painting parties, may open the field a little.”

If Isak had ears like a cat, they would have pricked. “For adults? Or anyone?”

Even frowned considering Isak’s question. “I had thought just adults, but what did you have in mind.”

Isak shook his head dismissing his own thoughts. “Probably wouldn’t bring in much money anyway.”

“I don’t care, what was the idea?” He did care about the money, or more accurately Mikeal did, but he was still open to other avenues. You never knew what opportunities you could make without laying down foundations of possibilities for others.

“It’s just cool to offer those spaces—big and creative—to kids. Especially neurodivergent kids. I already did research around this area, there isn’t much that offers that kinda thing.”

The idea lit an immediate fire in his brain. “We have a separate room that's just storage right now. Not large enough for adult parties, but it isn’t small either. Bright and airy, it could work for that.” It may not bring a huge amount of money—or any at all—but it would be another facet of the company that did some good. That would be positive for their image, but more importantly, it just sounded like an idea he would like to get involved in. 

Isak was rubbing his palms down his jeans, almost alarmed at his own ideas but excited nonetheless. He still couldn’t quite meet Even’s eyes. “You think?”

“Sure. you should pop down sometime, have a look. Maybe have a go at some pottery if the wheels there. If you need a hand we could always reenact Ghost.” Even couldn’t help but grin as Isak sputtered, obviously familiar enough with the film, or _that_ scene, to get the gist. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so jokey with Isak, technically an employee, but flirty was Even's default humour. Or it had been when he'd had someone to joke around with. Everything was work or home life now. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Isak defended after recovering from choking on nothing at all. He shook his head but there was the hint of a wry smile playing on his mouth—that was crooked, too. And his ears were red again.

Clearing his throat, Even felt that it would probably be good to change the subject before Isak turned into a beetroot, although the temptation to keep going was hard to get past; Isak’s reactions were _cute_. “I’m guessing Sonja isn’t back yet?” It was obvious, given that Isak was still actually here. For whatever reason Even wanted it affirmed, despite the way it twisted his mood from light and blush to dark and toiling. 

Isak shook his head, sitting taller. “Not yet. She mentioned something about walks after therapy.” His brows knotted momentarily, obviously finding however he learned that information puzzling.

Even’s smile was grim, sardonic almost as his features fought the emotions that wanted to twist them, just like his mood had warped. “She sure does.”

By the way that Isak hesitated, Even was convinced he’d done a subpar job at masking his feelings. “But it is late. You think she’s OK?”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Isak.” Again the neutrality in Even’s voice was strained. 

The only response now was a quick nod. “And I should probably be getting home, too.”

Even silently agreed, but it felt reluctant. Isak was right but it was nice having another adult in the house that didn’t alienate him entirely. “I’ll call you a taxi.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine, it’s a quick ride—I have my bike.”

It wasn’t a quick ride, it was at least twenty minutes. And it was pitch black out, now that autumn had fully arrived. He’d offered last time and been refused. This time it was different. “It’s pissing it down outside. You’ll get ill. I’d drop you off myself but,” Even gestured at their surroundings, “Sonja isn’t home yet.”

“Honestly, I’ll be fine. Rain is just rain, and I have a hoodie. I don’t get ill easily.”

Even’s eyebrows rose at Isak’s stubbornness. “Is it waterproof?” The desire to laugh spiked as Isak barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“No, but it’s a _quick_ ride.”

“You can borrow mine.” To put a full stop to that, and cease any more resistance, Even stood from the table and strode out to the coat rack where his raincoat hung. The sound of Isak scrabbling to get his things together at his back. There was the spare room, too, Even pondered to himself. The thought of offering it out loud made his stomach tense, and that reaction caused Even to frown.

“Thanks,” Isak stated as he walked into the living room, shoving his course book into his backpack. “That’s really kind of you.”

“It’s nothing—the least I can do.” 

There was an awkward dance as Isak took the coat and shifted his back from one arm to the other to shrug it on. It was a little large on him but it would do the trick. “Thanks,” he muttered again. “I think Sonja said I’m back Monday. Guess I’ll see you then?” He peered up at Even, meeting his eyes with the question. There was a clear quality to his gaze that spoke of honesty, it had been a long time since there'd been no obstacles between himself and someone else’s eyes. That was an absurd notion because he met people every day whom he had eye contact with and had no reason to lie to him. But there it was, there were no explanations for notions. 

“Yes, Monday. I'll be here,” Even assured. “Be safe.”

“I will,” Isak said to his shoes as he shoved his feet into them. Today it was one green sock with leaf patterns and one black with orange toes. Odd. Something in that made Even smile, unease and puzzlement melting into unimportance. With a last nod, he left. Even stood rooted to the spot, staring out the living room window as Isak unchained his bike, switched the front and rear lights on and rode away; a red ember cooling until it was extinguished by the bleak. 

It felt colder.

* * *


	8. Tropey As Fuck

### Tropey As Fuck

“A little more to the left.”

Mikael glared at him over his shoulder before shifting the frame another half inch. “Better?”

Tilting his head, Even pursed his lips. “It’ll do.” 

The only reply was a vexed clicking of his best friends tongue as he straightened and came to stand with Even, peering at his handiwork. “It’s _perfect_ ,” he added as a retort to the not quite satisfied response Even had offered. 

It was one of his larger works: a seascape. There was nothing but blues and greys, wild waves and wicked undercurrents. It was a piece everyone was drawn to but Even himself was not completely happy with—but that wasn’t unusual. There was no endpoint for an artist, you simply stopped once you’d reworked the canvas too many times and it simply couldn't live through another scrape and scrub of acrylic paint. 

“It’ll do,” he repeated.

Mikael huffed. “Anyway, Mr Perfectionist, what were you saying about upstairs?”

“Oh, _t_ _hat_ ,” Even nodded, moving towards the bar where his mug sat, steam rising lazily, “that would be more of a community thing, helping neurodivergent kids learn and express themselves through art.” He’d mulled it over yesterday evening, distracted from the usual foul mood that would set in when Sonja was out late _walking_. He was in bed and asleep before she’d gotten home, and she left while he’d been getting breakfast for the kids, grabbing a slice of plain toast and dotting the kids’ cheeks with quick pecks. She didn’t look at Even once, and the only thing she said was that she planned to be back early tonight. He’d stayed silent, smothering the thoughts that scalded. 

“Neuro-what?”

“Not neurotypical: dyslexia, autism, ADHD—that kinda thing.”

Mikael came to join him, nodding to himself. “Sounds interesting. But you said just a community endeavour?”

“Yeah, but it’ll be a good look for us. And business will come back from it, people from different circles will hear about us. It can’t hurt.”

“I like it. So, this nanny of yours, it was his idea?”

Even opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a light tapping on the windowpane. There was nothing to be done for the grin that took control of his mouth when he saw Isak himself on the other side, brandishing Even’s raincoat. 

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered to a bewildered-looking Mikael. 

“That’s him?”

“Yup,” he replied, pushing away from the bar and making his way to the door as Isak pushed it through. “Isak! You didn’t have to come out to drop off the coat. It could have waited.”

Isak shrugged, trying on a smile as he absorbed the room. “You said I should pop by, and I had your coat. My lectures were cancelled, so,” he left off like that all made sense. Which it did. 

“Well,” Even began, sweeping one arm out and gesturing around the studio and resting the other over Isak’s tense shoulders. He really needed to relax. “This is it. It’s not much,” Mikael snorted again in disagreement from across the room. “That’s my business partner and best friend, Mikael. Mikael, this is Isak—Christina’s new best friend.” 

“Oh, she likes you? Did you bribe her?”

Isak snickered. “No, just made up some stuff about magic and… well, you know, kids stuff.”

“ _Magic_?” Mikael asked, voice disbelieving. Considering he’d been around since the day Christina was born, he _would_ find that out of character. 

Isak opened his mouth to respond, his hands smoothing his shirt over his tummy. Before he could elaborate, Even cut in. “It’s a long story, but the _too long; didn’t read_ is that your Godchild is now an elf.”

Mikael’s eyebrows rose at that. “Well, that’s new. You’ll have to teach me your tricks sometimes, Isak. But for now, I need to stock-take,” he nodded in Isak’s direction before disappearing through a door to the side of the bar. That way led to the cellar and dry store. 

“This is amazing,” Isak murmured, gaze drifting amongst the canvases, varied in size and subject, that lined the walls. “Are they all yours?” 

“At the moment. But I’m hoping to get some resident artists so there can be a mix.”

“And people buy them?”

“That or make commissions. We’re pretty niche but we don’t have any competitors.” Even watched as Isak nodded, still preoccupied with the surroundings. “You wanna see upstairs?”

“Sure.” Even led the way, slowing his gait as Isak wandered in his wake, still distracted by the art. “The one of the sea, I love it.”

And, for whatever reasons and unlike every other occasion someone had exclaimed their appreciation for that particular piece, Even found himself smiling—something close to appreciation warming his chest. For once he was at a loss of what to say, so he opted for an impartial stance. “It’s the one most people seem drawn to.”

Isak hummed. “Its spot on. The sea is so… so… _overwhelming_ , it’s really the only thing you need on the canvas to get across how, eh, immense it is.” He came stuttering to a halt and Even glanced over his shoulder, as they reached the top of the stairs, just in time to see Isak shaking his head at himself. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about art. I sound ridiculous.”

“You don’t,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Art is just emotions, and there’s no wrong or right. You just say how you feel.”

They entered the room, and Isak pushed his hands into the pockets making a beeline for the broad windows that sided one wall. It gave a perfect view over the street below, and between the buildings opposite you could see the blue-greys of the sea itself. Even's view wasn't so bad either. Considering that rogue thought, Even followed to stand by him. They were both so still for so long he could swear that the roll of the waves reached them here. It was quite comfortable, the quiet between them.

“How did you feel when you made it?” Isak asked suddenly. 

Even blinked, looking over to Isak, his gaze was still lost to the horizon. No one had asked him that before. “That’s, erm…” he frowned, feeling frustrated at the inability he had to give an answer to that. Not that he didn’t want to, just that he had no idea where to start. So he went with blunt; the root of it. “Lost and alone, fighting against things I can’t control, things bigger than myself; drowning.” He was tense, arms folded across his chest and his fists bunched in the shirt materials at his side, without him realising. He wasn’t entirely sure when the last time was that he'd spoken verbally about how he felt; with a paintbrush and paint, he'd become fluent. 

Turning to Even, Isak didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest at the admission. He simply gave a nod and there was a solemness in his eyes that said he could understand. “I get that.” 

Even’s chest eased at that, fingers loosed their grip. His arms relaxed to his sides while his hands pushed their way into his own pockets, mirroring Isak’s stance. “Usually when you make art you’re giving it to the world to see whatever it is they want to see— or are compelled to see. It can be pretty amazing the different perspectives you hear on the same work. But that art does come from somewhere. As much as we give it away, there's a truth to it. There was a reason it was made.”

Frowning had never been an expression Even found remarkable before but when Isak did he was sure he could hear the thoughts being mulled over if he just listened a little harder. It was also cute. He probably shouldn’t find his nanny cute. 

Isak saved him from wherever that notion might go. “When you create a piece, it’s from an experience—or the emotions from an experience. Is that the truth in it?” 

“Mostly.”

He chewed his lip, Even glanced away. 

“It’s almost like writing personal letters about your life and putting them on the wall for people to read. Doesn’t it feel weird? It’s so intimate.” 

His attention was back on Isak. It wasn’t often people understood that concept, let alone come up with it on their own. “That’s exactly what it’s like,” he snorted a laugh, shook his head and began to wander around the room. The walls were white-painted brick, the floor a deeply stained oak. The wood creaked beneath his feet. “But most people don’t figure that out. They see what they like, they see what resonates in them, and that's that.”

“So, there are cryptic little messages from you, dotted around the world.”

“I guess so.”

Turning from the window, Isak huffed a bemused laugh. “I don’t know if that’s comforting or not.”

Even found himself shrugging. “Me neither. I guess if you have someone to talk to about those feelings and emotions, it doesn’t matter so much if there’s proof of you struggling out there. Because you have your life vest, the sea was the past.” 

Isak met his eyes in that clear and honest way that he did. There was a question there, in their dialogue, that they both felt: _do you have someone?_ It didn’t matter that it was left unsaid, it was there all the same. Somehow the answer was clear, quite unnecessary for it to be said aloud: _no_. 

Clearing his throat, Isak rubbed at his arms. “I like it,” he said nodding at the space between them. “The room. It’s spacious, bright. Is that a toilet?”

“Yeah. And the plumbing up here will be fixed next week,” he added, mimicking the way Isak was warming himself. “It’s almost colder up here than outside.”

“Get twenty kids running around hurling paint and it’ll soon warm up.”

“Throwing pottery, hurling paint; sounds like we’re in for all kinds of mess.”

There was a pause for a single heartbeat. “A big mess,” Isak admitted. 

"But we can't turn back now,” Even mused. 

"No turning back." The tips of his ears were pink. 

"Do you have a plan? For what you want to do?" 

Relief flooded Isak's features with the direct question, it shifted the ambiguous nature of Even's words that he wasn't entirely sure he intended. This was unlike his normal charming banter, it was coded. "Actually I do. We're supposed to start working at a placement next term, in a school. But I was thinking about requesting that I start this enterprise, working with several schools to use this space for kids that will benefit from it. All depending on what uni will allow." 

"Sounds ambitious." 

The compliment was received instead as doubt. Isak frowned. "You think it's too ambitious?" 

But Even was shaking his head before the question was asked. "No. Not at all. I think you're more than capable of it. You have the kinda energy that means big things will happen around you." 

"Shut up," Isak scoffed. 

It made Even grin that Isak felt comfortable enough to push back. "I'm serious. You get to know the feel of a bullshitter and someone that'll make shit happen." 

It was the first time it had happened when Even had seen: an easy smile pulled at Isak's lips. Easy yet cunning, there was a sharp comeback intended. Yet, as he opened his mouth, the words died as a shrill old-school ringtone sounded, the kind that came from a landline phone with a dial. Isak began to pat down his pockets before pulling his mobile free. Despite frowning at the screen, Isak muted it. The quip forever lost as a sigh replaced it. The script was rewritten. 

"Speaking of _making shit happen, I_ have to call my mum. And I have a paper to work on… _and_ revision." A second sigh said that there was a pinch of regret in having duties to get on with. Even could relate. 

"Well, now you know the space," he said, leading the way again back down to the lower level. "You can make your plans and just fill me in when they're more solid. We'll figure it out." 

"Sounds good to me." Feet stopping a few paced from the entrance, Isak overtook him, turning to grin, his gaze slipping over Even's shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Mikael." 

He'd not even realised his best friend was in the room. 

"Likewise," Mikael replied, a mixture of absent-mindedness and amusement in his voice. "No doubt I'll see you soon." 

Isak nodded before yanking the door open. Then his eyes were on Even again. "Monday?" 

He hummed a yes. "Monday." Then Isak was gone and he was left staring at the wake Isak left.

Someone cleared their throat. Even frowned; it wasn't like him to be so quick to forget the presence of someone else. In this instance, it had been a matter of mere seconds. Turning, his bewilderment deepened as he found Mikael’s eyes wide and his eyebrows almost meeting his hairline. 

"What?" All he got as a reply was a head shake and a badly masked snicker. " _What_?" Even repeated the demand, striding towards the bar where his friend stood, digging around in a box. His mug was still there, no steam escaped now.

"It's just," Mikael began before shaking his head again. "I mean _c'mon_." 

"C'mon what?" 

"It's tropey as fuck. The babysitter, Even?" 

Reaching the bar, Even leant against it. A spark of anticipation, fear, and excitement ignited, realising what Mikael meant by the statement. It tugged thoughts that'd begun to lurk in the wings of his mind into the spotlight to be realised. Caught between honesty and denial, Even cupped his mug in his hands, peering into the cold contents like that was somehow the most exciting thing going on right now. 

Mikael just snorted. "You don't do coy so well. It may not have happened for a long ass time, but I remember what you're like when you like someone. You get lost—the world disappears. You're the typical artist mopey type." 

Even shrugged. "So I like him. He's very likeable." 

That was a tut. "Yes, _like_. Right. You know what I mean. You had to pick your nanny? Jesus fucking christ." He wasn't berating Even. Despite how he shook his head, there was a smile there. And when his eyes met Even's there was no challenge. 

"I didn't mean to. I don't know. He's just…" Even shrugged again, " _him_." Settling on a stool, he watched Mikael root around in the box, lifting out a candlestick he scrutinised before placing it out on the bar and blowing off some dust from its intricate brass arms. He looked thoughtful, usually, he took his time to pick the right words. 

“I can’t even find anything negative to say—constructively, I mean.” Dusting off his hands before planting them on the counter, Mikael stared at Even, “You deserve to feel... _stuff_ . You know my opinion about the situation with—well, you _know_. If you took my advice a while back this whole thing wouldn’t be so problematic. Tea?”

Even blinked, trying to process the statement and the question that had run into one barrage of words. “Sure,” he said, glad for the space offered for him to think. His friend nodded, tugging Even’s cold mug from his grasp before disappearing into the kitchen. 

There was no lie in the statement. Mikael had remained quietly sceptical when things had become bleak between Even and Sonja—after Christina was born. Whatever his opinions, he’d placed them aside to support his friend. Once Bo arrived, and the situation began to spiral, he began to speak up. Even had been sure his own approach was the right one, or at the very least the course guided by the right intentions. Apparently good intentions didn't mean much in real life. Sometimes the kind way is the wrong way. Now he was stuck where he was because of his own principles, and perhaps a small measure of stubbornness. He was waiting until Sonja decided to be honest, with herself and with him. 

Backing out of the kitchen, Mikeal clutched a tray holding a pot of hot water and teacups this time, a tea strainer packed with loose leaves perched on the lip of each cup. The water was poured as soon as Mikael was sat next to Even. There was no time to waste when tea was involved. 

“What are you going to do?” 

Even scowled at his drink, held between his palms to warm them. The leaves hadn’t sat long enough to be ready. What was _he_ going to do? “Nothings going to happen.”

There was a pause, Even felt his friend's scepticism brewing like his tea. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know if he likes me.” Even narrowed his eyes at Mikael, who was now snickering. 

“You don’t?”

“ _No_.” the word was impressed with a bite of ire.

“Oh, Even. You’ve been out of the game for too long. He came all the way over here to see this place cos you mentioned he should drop by sometimes—when was it? Yesterday?”

“And he was bringing my coat. He had no lectures—you heard.” They were all solid logical reasons as to why Isak had come, albeit eagerly 

Mikael hummed, unconvinced. “I also heard you guys chatting, the walls are thin. If there was an ounce more tension you both would have exploded. A big mess, didn’t you say? Sounds about right.”

It was Even’s turn to snort. “I’m a married guy with kids, no free time and a new business. He’s a free and uncomplicated student. I’m hardly… _prime stock_.” That was the tip of the iceberg if he was honest. He’d pushed his needs and wants to the back of the queue for so long that he wasn’t sure what they were anymore. And he’d been neglected physically to the point where he no longer knew if he was appealing. He was scared of the physical side, that if someone drew close enough they would see the cracks and the flaws and be repulsed. Past that, he was too old for flings and hook-ups. They had never been his thing anyway but now more than ever he would only consider something if it was intimate emotionally—he couldn’t be with someone without trust anymore. Now that he could think about it honestly, and talk about it out loud to a point, there were more and more reasons why nothing would ever come of this scenario. 

It was just a crush. They came and went like the breeze. 

“ _Prime stock_?” Mikael snorted derisively. “Attraction doesn’t work on logic or sense. You like who you like. And you can’t speak for what he sees—or wants.” 

There was nothing for Even to say in response. The tea was done so he lifted the strainer and set it on its leaf-shaped drip tray. During the day this was the main beverage sold. It stood to reason that they would have the best serving sets they could find—there was no place for tea bags at The Caprice. 

“Anyway, he’s good at what he does; Christina likes him, Sonja likes him—and Bo. I can’t jeopardize that.”

“No, you can’t. The saying is: too close to home. In this case, it’s _in_ your home.”

“So _nothing_ is going to happen,” Even added with finality. To punctuate the end of the conversation he brought the cup to his lips. It was chamomile. Apparently the situation called for calm.

Mikael sighed heavily. “You and Sonja aren’t together—not really. The sooner you both say it out loud, the better for everyone. This isn’t even about him specifically, at some point you were going to meet someone you like, and you need to be able to do what normal people do: date, fuck around, go dogging—whatever the hell you want—and not feel like you’re doing something wrong. And if you ask me, you’re not. Not after everything. But two wrongs don’t make a right; you need to be the one to make this right.”

The quiet between them was oppressive and dark, not like the silence he’d shared with Isak earlier. Anyone close enough to him and Sonja could see what was happening. Mikael had never asked outright, but it wasn’t necessary. It brought shame down heavy on Even’s shoulders. He couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault somehow, but no matter how he twisted the puzzle pieces around, he wasn't sure how he could have done things differently for a better outcome.

Had Isak figured her out?

“But the kids—”

“You _know_ they don’t benefit from this. She avoids you so much she’s barely at home. Aside from that, kids know when things are wrong. They just do.” Even met his eyes, his friend’s expression was earnest—almost pleading. “They’re my God kids, I want the best for them. And Sonja—believe it or not. Goes without saying I want you to be happy— _and_ get laid… at some point this decade.”

Even huffed a laugh that was caught between humour and sardonicism. He hadn’t even considered that side of things, the mere notion made him anxious enough that his palms were already damp, and not because of the hot china. To buy some time he took another sip. Every time they had this conversation, no matter how sparse it was, Mikael’s opinion became more real—an unavoidable road. He held back on admitting how scared it made him, to be the one who fractured something forever; to be the bad guy. 

“I’ll think about it. OK?” he murmured into his cup. 

Mikael moved closer, his hand squeezed Even's shoulder reassuringly. “That’s all I’m saying. Just think about it.”

* * *


	9. That's Cheating

### That’s Cheating

The rain made long, grey trails down the windowpane of Isak’s room. He watched as they slid and zig-zagged down the glass in an irregular race with absolutely no rules, listening to the dial tone. He was about to hang up when she answered.

_“Hey, Sweetheart. Sorry I was in the garden.”_

“It’s OK, mum. You busy? I can call later.” He listened as she turned away from the phone to cough. The sound provoked a swelling mass of concern Isak was nurturing, it didn’t sound like it was getting any better. 

_“It’s fine. I was just talking to Ingrid next door, but she’s on her way out tonight. A musical with Jens.”_

“That sounds nice. You not going?” They’d been neighbours for years, his mum would be invited along to minor and major events. They worried about her being by herself since Isak and his sister were out of the house. 

_“No, no. They asked. I just don’t feel like it.”_

The furrow in his brow deepened. That was unlike her. “You feeling OK? Usually, you don’t need an excuse to get the heels out and paint the town… beige. Or eggshell blue… whatever.”

Her laugh eased his worry. _“I’m fine. There’s just so many times you can play the third wheel. And it’s so awkward when they try and fix me up with friends.”_

That was fair enough. Isak didn’t like the idea of someone trying to matchmake for her—no one was good enough. “Sounds like the right call. How was the Doctors yesterday?” They’d spoken briefly after he’d left The Caprice on Friday, and she’d only had enough time to tell him there was a Doctors appointment on Saturday—with a specialist. Then she’d had to run to catch some market before they closed. Cheese, if he remembered correctly. His mum would sell her soul for cheese. 

There was a pause. _“It’s fine.”_

The alarm was back in a heartbeat. “Fine? What exactly did he say?”

She clicked her tongue in vexation. _“That it’s most probably fine. I just need to go back for some tests. But your sister is coming next week and she will be helping me so I don’t want you to worry about me at all. Do you hear?”_

He huffed like a petulant child. “I’m surprised she has the time.” There was a grudge there still, against her. If she’d come back from university when she’d graduated instead of taking a year to travel perhaps things would have been different. Instead, it was just him and his mum. 

_“Isak, don’t be like that. Lea has been here a lot since you started your course. I think she’s missed home.”_

The only thing he could retort with was a non-committal hum. His mum wasn’t a fool though if there was a rouse she would see through it. Besides, his sister wasn’t a bad person, she just wasn’t reliable. “Are you guys getting on?” he asked tersely.

_“Actually, yes. She’s grown up a lot,"_ she paused, hesitating over her next words. " _She misses you."_

"I doubt that," he snorted. 

" _Well, you'll see when you visit next."_ Isak had no idea when that would be, with exams and his job. " _Whenever you have free time, now you have your new job."_ She always seemed to read his mind. " _You haven't told me how it's going."_

Dropping his head back, Isak stared at the smooth white ceiling, trying to hide the small smile that came with the thoughts. A smile his mum would likely smell despite the hundreds of miles between them. "It's good." 

" _Just good_?" 

He hummed. "Kids are awesome. Parents are nice—accommodating. Big house…" 

"And no issues? With your studies?" 

Isak hesitated. He'd learned to be honest with her, even if it meant embarrassment for himself, just so she felt secure. But this was a difficult scenario. "No, fits fine. But—" 

" _Yes_?" she put in, feeling at his hesitancy. 

"I don't want to sound like I'm gossiping," he replied, grimacing at the fact he wasn't going to be straight with her about being attracted to the dad in the scenario. Instead, he was gonna chat shit about them. That wasn't good at all.

_"I'm not gonna tell. Besides, I might be able to help."_

"The mum, she's not around much. I think there's stuff going on between them—her and the dad. It feels like she avoids him. I don't know." 

She hummed thoughtfully. " _There are so many things that can happen in a marriage—go wrong, I mean They both work I guess?"_

"Yup. He seems happy, friendly. But then these dark moods come over when he knows she's late… like several hours late. He tries to hide his irritation but it's obvious. Well, I think it is." For Isak the colour of the room changed, the brightness in Even's eyes died, and his smile was flat. "I get the feeling she's cheating." 

" _Well try not to judge, Isak. There can be many reasons relationships become strained. Sounds like you already found a side..."_

Isak was shaking his head. "I'm not on a side—or judging. I promise. They both love the kids, that's the important thing." 

There was a diplomatic pause. " _So you've spent a lot of time with the dad?"_

Isak was staring at the streaks of water again. The sky was black now. "I guess," he muttered as offhand as he could manage. 

" _What's his name?"_

She was clever, Isak would give her that. "Even."

There was a hum. " _What's he like?"_

Isak rolled his eyes. "He's nice, I already said that." The reply was a little too hot. There was a soft laugh on the end of the line and Isak felt heat in his cheeks. "What?" he demanded. It was too late to play dumb. 

" _Isak, sweetheart, Isn't this what they call corny?—No, trope. It's a trope."_

He huffed indignantly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied. 

" _I haven’t accused you of anything what-so-ever. And,"_ she added a zipping noise before carrying on. " _My lips are sealed. Just… and I know you won't, sweetheart, I just need to say it for my own peace of mind, but stay out of the drama."_

"I'm an expert on staying out of drama." 

_"I know, I know."_ Another considering pause. _"What does he look like?"_

" _Mum_ ," Isak snorted.

" _What? I have an evening of cleaning out the spare room ahead, give me some entertainment_." 

He sighed, racking the fingers on his free hand through his hair. "You know that movie Nan used to watch all the time? With the drag racing and the dude in the red coat?" 

" _Rebel Without a Cause?"_

"That's the one. He looks like the dude in the red coat." 

" _Jim Stark_ . _You never did complain about watching that—over and over—with her. You'd sit on the floor, flat on your tummy with your chin in your hands, kicking your feet back and forth with a bowl of boiled sweets in front of you. Looked like you were in heaven…"_ she left off, giggles taking over. 

Isak rolled his eyes. "Well, now you know what he looks like." 

" _Can't blame you."_

She was right, he mused to himself. There was only so much you could do when someone looked like that—coupled with his personality there was no hope. Yet the weird thing was Even seemed unaware. Isak wasn't sure how he could tell but the quick, unnerving glances in the mirror he'd observed before Even would rush out the door, didn't speak of confidence. Along with their conversation at the studio… "I think he's in a bad place." Isak didn't know he'd spoken the words out loud until he heard them in his own ears. 

she sighed. " _That may be so, Love, but there's only so much you can do sometimes."_

The advice wasn't surprising coming from her. Her prerogative was for Isak to focus on himself first, studies second—that was the end of her list. He knew why. And this, to anyone, would shout problematic. She was doing her duty. 

"I know." 

" _Any plans? With friends and whatnot."_

Isak didn't hesitate here. "We're doing a music festival next weekend. Camping overnight near the beach." It wasn't an outright lie, he was planning to go, just on his own. 

_"Isn't it a bit cold for camping?"_

"I'm prepared; 10 season sleeping bag, double thermals, snowshoes..." he teased. It was autumn, and really no big deal. 

The tsk that followed made him grin. " _Just go prepared, OK?"_

"I will." 

" _I need to go start dinner. What are you eating tonight?"_

"I have a vat of soup and two loaves of bread to get through." 

" _Good. I'll call on Tuesday. But just buzz if you need me before then."_

Isak’s smile was withering, but he kept his voice neutral. "You know I will." 

_"Love you."_

"Love you, too, Ma." 

Isak collapsed back on his bed with a sigh once she'd hung up, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly tired. Perhaps he'd been thinking over the scenario with Even and Sonja more than he'd realised. Talking about it dragged those tangled thoughts into view, stretch them out in the light of day to see the problems clearly. Like she’d said, there was only so much he could do. 

He _could_ listen though, maybe that would help. Besides, nothing was going to happen. Isak was a student, and if Even knew anything about the mess that was his life, he'd cross to the other side of the street in a heartbeat. On top of that it just wasn't sensible for anyone, and not even worth the energy considering it, he told himself. 

That didn't stop the thoughts creeping in at every opportunity, lulling Isak with the soft tap-tapping of the rain. It didn't stop the dreams that washed over him where Isak was wearing a red jacket and won over a James Dean lookalike only to be challenged to a drag race by a blond formidable woman. 

* * *


	10. Change Of Plans

### Change Of Plans

Isak couldn’t remember the last time he’d been made to feel guilty without actually doing anything other than having an imagination. But here he was. 

At some points, in his youth, he would walk around a shop and gaze at the rows of comics or sweets, and the shocking notion of pocketing something and slipping out would enter his head. From that alone, his cheeks would become inflamed and he would plod from the store half expecting to be stopped and somehow have his bag and pockets overflow with stuff that only his unruly fantasies had coveted. 

_This_ was exactly like that. 

“So she went down easily, I suppose?”

Isak was tidying away the workbook and revision notes that he’d spread out on the large dining table he always ended up working from—after the kids were asleep.

“Yeah, nothing to report. We started _Danny The Champion Of The World_ today, and she was already stating, at the turn of every page, that Danny was nowhere near as cool as Matilda.” 

Sonja emerged from the kitchen area, carrying a plate in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. Her late-night snack consisted of cold cuts of salami and pancetta, half a bagel, and a small bowl of olives. Frowning, Isak resisted the urge to mention that there was Carbonari in a Tupperware—made by Even and entirely fucking delicious. Something told him that she was probably well aware of that. Did avoidance techniques reach as far as food?

Popping a rolled piece of salami into her mouth, Sonja chuckled. “It’ll take a lot to beat Matilda, that’s for sure.”

“I have faith that she will find him worthy of being a favourite—maybe not _the_ favourite.”

She frowned. “I read it so long ago, but isn’t Danny kinda… morally grey?”

Isak shrugged. “All the best characters are. Makes them human, I suppose.”

There was a thoughtful pause before she was smiling at him, knowingly. “You really fit in, you know? The kids like you, and I do. I think Even likes having you around—it’s good for him to have friends. He doesn’t make time to do that kinda thing—friendships and... you know?”

Isak focused on packing his backpack as neatly as possible while keeping the guilt at bay that threatened to twist his stomach. And the guilt had intensified with the disappointment that had seeped into him when it was Sonja that arrived home first, not Even. 

The week so far had followed a solid routine. He would arrive to find Even home, who’d stay long enough to play whatever games helped Isak get the kids cleaned up after dinner, or changed into pyjamas. At that point, the house would be full of noise and laughter, of a giant counting down the stairs they ascended to chase fairies or elves into the sleepy realm. Breathless and light. 

The evenings would retain that lightness once Even returned but a quiet would accompany it. There was a gentle dance of getting-to-know-you questions exchanged, playful jokes shot between them, and—for the most part—ease in being in the same space. But it was when their dialogue became silent that Isak left, the easy tide becoming unstable, unpredictable, and unbelievably tempting. 

His mind would buzz with fantasies on his way home, if he had left the washing up until Even was there and anchored himself to the sink, suds to his elbows, unable to move when Even stood behind him, now unwilling to move when arms would wind around his waist, and then lips would find their way against Isak’s neck… 

Clearing his throat, Isak struggled to remember what the topic of conversation was. “I like being here. You are all… _really_ awesome.” Guilt was literally in the room, hidden in the corner, shaking his head at Isak right now and waiting for his buddy shame to arrive and watch this farce of a show. But it wasn’t a lie, he did think a lot of them—including Sonja. 

“I’m glad,” she said, too focused on layering prosciutto on her bagel to notice any troubling emotions in Isak. “You sure you don’t want wine?”

“Positive.”

She looked up at him. “You don’t drink at all?” Isak shook his head. She huffed a soft laugh. “A student that doesn’t drink. I think we lucked out with you.”

“I just like to be in control.”

Her response was a simple nod, then the conversation moved on. Obviously, she didn’t see anything to dig for in Isak’s teetotal nature. He was glad for that. “I was going to ask actually whether you were around this weekend.” Relaxing in her chair, her gaze fixed onto him as the bagel was held delicately between a thumb a forefinger. “I’ve been asked to cover a convention we’re having, but it’s in Copenhagen. And I know that Even has a very important weekend ahead—business-wise.” She licked her lips, the last part seemed like it was difficult for her to admit. It seemed to Isak that Even had been playing second fiddle to her career, but now his own was taking off. “I didn’t want to say yes and fuck that up for him. So I was hoping that you would be around.” 

He knew about Even’s weekend. They had been booked out the entire two days by the same international company that supplied art and sculptures for private health care facilities. It was a _huge_ deal if they could strike up a relationship with them, providing a huge chunk of retained business for The Caprice. Isak had found himself smiling when he watched Even explain it so enthusiastically, gesticulating and giggling, because this would make all the hard work pay off. It had been enthralling to see Even so elated. His forehead creased as he imagined what reception he'd received when he told Sonja. But that was none of his business. 

In truth, Isak had prepared himself for this scenario, something in his gut warning that it would happen. Either that or he was just used to preparing for all eventualities. “I have plans but I can change them.”

Sonja chased a mouthful of the bagel with a sip of wine. “What plans? I’m not gonna fuck up your social life, Isak.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a music festival, I was planning to go camp there Saturday night. It’s mostly free so I’m not losing out on anything.”

“ _On The Beach_ —that one?”

It was a fairly unimaginative name, but he supposed that was probably the best for festivals—you knew what you were getting. “That’s the one.”

“I’ve been before—before Bo was born. Is it still family-friendly?”

“From what I’ve heard it’s mostly families that go. It was just something to do, and I like some of the bands they have playing Saturday afternoon. But it's no big deal, I can catch them playing another time.” It was true, and the thought of killing Even's joy in this weekend of prospect business was intolerable.

Sonja chewed her lip looking thoughtful. “Would you wanna take them? It’s forty minutes on the train, I think. Not to camp,” she impressed, focussing on him, “just for the day. Like a compromise? And I’ll pay double, and for travel and food and whatever you need—obviously. If it's a long day you can always crash here, in the guest room." 

Isak floundered for a response. He'd been about to agree but she'd thrown in the overnight stay and that was a little too much. The door to that room was often open, and when he'd settle Christina in the evenings, the vacant but inviting space practically provoked his imagination. 

"I don't need to sleep over, I'll be fine waiting—" 

"But you'll have to be back in the morning, I think Even has to be at the studio for midday. It doesn't make sense leaving so late just to come back in the morning. You guys could have a pyjama day," she was grinning now, enthused on their behalf. "Christina will love that." 

Sighing, Isak shrugged. "I'll think about it. But I honestly don't mind—" 

Sonja snorted. "You're much too polite." 

If only she knew. Isak worried his lip. "I would be letting my mum down if I was anything else." 

"And a mum's boy," she cooed playfully. "How are you still single?" 

Isak snorted. "Not enough time in the world to cope with all of that." 

"No kidding," she mused. "And I know you're gonna say no, but I have to ask: can I get you a taxi?" 

Grinning, Isak pressed both hands flat to his chest, backpack now slung over his arm and backwards steps taking him towards the front of the house. "You know me so well already." 

Shaking her head, she sipped her drink. "Polite _and_ stubborn." 

Isak was glad for the topic shift, giving him an exit. The change in plans was going to have to be considered, he didn't have much time to prepare if he was going to crash here. Perhaps sleeping pills were the answer.

"It's how I stay so young."

* * *


	11. Quite A Picture

### Quite A Picture

With one last shove, the white bedframe was pushed firmly against the wall. It was deceptively heavy, Even decided, as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. 

“So now what?” he asked. This wasn’t exactly how he’d expected to spend the single evening he had at home this week. 

Christina stood, hand on her hip and staring at the space that was now entirely exposed. Every piece of furniture that had been pushed against or abutted it was now in a different location. She looked over her shoulder at him like he had lost his mind.

“Don’t you see?”

“See what?”

One small arm reached out, gesturing at the off-white wall. “This,” she grinned. “It’s a canvas.”

It was said with so much dramatism, Even couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Are you gonna start painting, Chris?”

The grin slipped quickly into a frown as she shrugged. “Maybe, but not right now. _You’re_ going to paint it.”

“Me?”

“Yup,” she hummed, “Mum can barely draw stick figures so it has to be you, dad.” And she looked up at him, through those long lashes and sky blue eyes. What else was he to do?

“Well, what do you want? A different colour? Or a pattern?”

Christina walked towards a low shelf, from it a small book was pulled. Even wasn’t sure she'd even read it before—not on her own. It was full of poems for different flower fairies, one for each month of the year. The flower fairies were children, wearing petals and leaves as clothes. It had been a gift after Chris was born, Even had spent many twilit hours reading the poems to her in those first few months, when she was grizzly and it had been just the two of them. It never quite lulled her back to sleep on its own, it would always end in him holding her and pacing around the living room until exhaustion won, but it had been soothing, at least for Even. He could look back on those times with rosetinted glasses. 

“I thought flowers and fairies might be nice,” she mused, as though a massive wall mural of details flowers and fairies was a simple thing.

“Is that all?” he asked, quiet sarcasm inflected his words.

Her eyes narrowed on him. “You paint all day, this shouldn’t be hard.” Flicking through the book she stopped on a page. On one side there was a dark-haired girl carrying a bunch of holly berries. On her head, she wore a woven holly crown, and her dress a deep green and crimson collection of petals and leaves. She was hefting the holly berries like a standard-bearer charging into war. “I like her,” Christina said. There was a hesitation before she went on, her finger trailing to the opposite page. There was a boy standing amongst white-headed dandelions that towered over his head. His clothes were yellow, petals too but this time from yellow-headed dandelions. Blond hair curled from beneath the green leaf cap that was perched on his head and he beamed back in the general direction of the holly fairy. “I like him, too.”

“So,” Even began, not about to point out the obvious. “Holly Queen and Dandelion King... _fairies_?”

She huffed. “I don’t think he’s a fairy, I think he’s an elf.”

Even pursed his lips. “I think elves are bigger, sweetheart.”

“No, they can be any size; big and tiny—even human-sized.”

“I guess you’re right. They have Elves in that movie you won’t watch with me—you know, with the hobbits. They’re just like normal humans.”

Her arms were crossed over her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me there were elves in it? I would have watched it.”

He laughed again. “I had no idea you were so into magic stuff now. We can always watch it, but then you might want me to paint Legolas on the wall as well.”

“Who’s Legolas?”

“The elf.”

“What does he look like?”

How had he gotten into this? “Um, pale, tall, long blonde hair—”

“Green eyes?”

“No, they kinda change from brown to blue and purple.” It was embarrassing how easy it was to answer that question. Legolas had been one of Even’s first crushes. Christina didn’t need to know that though, he wasn’t ready for them to share the same taste in men, but that might already be the case. 

She looked disappointed before pushing at her nose with a slender finger. “A pointy nose?”

Even frowned. “Legolas is not Isak, Christina.”

Her chin tipped up in defiance. “I know that. I was just asking. Anyway,” her attention was back on the book. “These two. And lots of flowers. Can you do it? Today?”

Snorting, Even took the book from her. “There are many _many_ impossible things that I will do because I love you, Chris, but creating a massive mural in one single day I doubt is on that list.” She looked about to retort but wasn’t given the chance. “But I _will_ do it, OK? I just need some time to plan it out, and you’ll probably need to sleep in your brother’s room while I’m doing it.” There was enough space in there, where Bo was now fast asleep—Even hoped—to set up Christina’s trundle. Sonja might not be pleased with the plan.

Christina was nodding, a grin plastered to her face once more. “Deal.”

Sighing, Even scanned the _canvas,_ already making plans for where things should be positioned and what colours would complement each other. There was a lull as Chris looked to him and then back at the wall before saying whatever it was that she had on her mind.

“We’re going to the beach tomorrow.”

He hummed. “Your mum told me.” It sounded like the kids were going to have an exciting weekend attending their first music festival with Isak, while he was going to be stuck with a few dozen suits, making small talk that delicately danced the lines of business for hours on end. 

“It should be fun,” she said, sounding only half convinced. 

Even glanced at her, puzzled by why she wasn't bursting at the seams over the prospect, as he'd imagined her to be. “You don’t wanna go?”

Turning to face him, her expression said very clearly that she was affronted by that question. “I _do_.”

“So what’s with the face?”

She shrugged. “Isak says he was gonna camp, but mum says we can’t camp.”

His confusion only doubled. “You _want_ to camp?”

And her offence tripled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Brandishing his palms, Even tried to make peace with his angelic spitfire of a daughter. “There’s absolutely no reason at all why you would not want to go camping.” It was a lie. Off the top of his head Even could think of three reasons she would not want to sleep outside in a tent: her hate of being restricted in her sleep by a sleeping bag, a general disgust for earwigs, and her already well established morning routine that consisted of a ten-minute shower. But if Christina wanted to play at pretending camping would be absolutely no problem for her, so could he. 

Nodding perfunctory, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I think mum thinks we wouldn’t like it.”

Even chewed his lip. Sonja was probably right. But if Christina wanted to try it so bad… “If you're keen on camping we’ll plan a trip,. We’ll get marshmallows and sausages—”

“And peas?”

“I don’t think you can cook peas over a campfire, love.”

“We’ll take a saucepan.” 

He sighed. “Perfect. We’ll take a saucepan. But we need to see what weekend would work—” His sentence was cut off as his phone began to vibrate, a gentle beeping noise coming from his pocket. Pulling it free, Even answered quickly. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Is it uncle?” Christina hissed excitedly. Even nodded a _yes._ Christina must have worked that out from the fact that no one else generally called him. “Hi, Uncle Miky.”

_“Hey, sweetheart. And hey Christina.”_

Even snorted a laugh. “He says _hey.”_ Christina smirked but was quickly absorbed in the fairy book once more as Even paced to the window. There was no view to speak of now that it was pitch black outside. “Everything OK?” he said into the speaker.

_“Yeah, no need to panic. But we have a minor change of plans.”_

“What?” Even tempered the nerves that threatened to explode, he’d been worrying something would throw a spanner in the work. 

_“It’s really nothing for us to worry about. The CEO for this weekend gig has had some issues with his travel plans. So it’s pushed back to Tuesday and Wednesday. Apparently they all make enough money to be able to do that—rearrange an entire work event at last minute.”_

“Tuesday and Wednesday? Next week?”

Mikael hummed a yes. _“So, we have zero bookings this weekend for once. I need to be in to do the books but you should just take the weekend off. It’ll be the first time in a while.”_

Even glanced over to his daughter, currently balanced on the ball of one foot, the other held high in the air behind her grasped at the ankle—an attempt at a ballet pose perhaps. The book was still gripped in her free hand and held before her. It wasn’t an optimum reading position but this was Christina after all. 

“Are you sure?”

“ _Of course. You will probably be stupid busy for a while after this booking if all goes well, so_ …” he left the rest unsaid. 

The decision was finalised. “OK, well call if you need me.”

_“I won’t. Enjoy the babies.”_

Even was still for a moment after Mikael hung up, anticipation making his pulse rise. The quiet brought around Christina’s attention, and one faint eyebrow arched questioningly. "What?"

“You think Bo is still up?” he asked.

She snorted a laugh before her eyes darted to the doorway. Peering around the door Even saw a wide pair of big brown eyes staring back from the hall. The child in question sat on the floor, a star torch in his small chubby hand. Once caught out, all Bo had for defense was a self-impressed giggle. How did Isak get them settled so easily?

“Good. You guys wanna go on an adventure?” 

The book flung onto Christina’s bed, she sprang into action. “An adventure? Where?”

There were a few stops he had to make, one at his parents' house to pick up and dust off equipment he hadn’t used in a decade. “We need to go to the store for some marshmallows and sausages.”

* * *


	12. More S'mores?

### More S'mores?

Isak's knuckles had barely brushed the door before it was yanked open. His mouth was open in an attempt to greet who he assumed would be Sonja but all he saw was Even's back as he bolted away from the door, retreating towards the dining room. Why wasn't he at the studio? Was he running late? But Even wasn't dressed for work. Nervously, Isak glanced at his watch but he hadn't gotten the time wrong. Something was obviously not going according to schedule. The bewilderment thickened when Even addressed him. 

"We're almost ready," he called over his shoulder. "Christina decided to take an extra long shower to make up for tomorrow." 

Isak frowned, letting his backpack slide down his arm and settle on the floor, free arm pushing the door closed behind him. We? Tomorrow?

"I thought you were—" 

"There was a change of plan." That was the only thing said before he disappeared into the dining room. 

Not entirely sure what to do with himself, considering Isak had no idea what was happening, he looked for clues from the vantage point that was the welcome mat. There were two large bags nestled side by side on the sofa, the largest was open and stuffed with what looked suspiciously like sleeping bags. Panic began to set in when he realised it's canvas neighbour was a tent bag.

_What the fuck was going on?_

Before he could find his tongue, dainty feet pounded the stairs. "Isak!" Christina slung her backpack on the floor, it slid along the wooden boards until it bumped into his. "We wanted to surprise you." She was beaming up at him, her hair pulled pack in a plait that looped through the fastening in a snapback, silver heart-shaped shades perched on the end of her nose. Along with a body warmer, a rainbow coloured fleece, and cargo pants, she looked ready for any and all scenarios that might occur. 

"A surprise?" 

Her nod was so fierce Isak thought her head might come loose. "Yup. We're camping." 

He struggled to find his tongue. "You guys and your dad?" 

"All of us." Shooting a hand out, her index finger prodded his tummy for emphasis; he was supposed to be a part of this _adventure_.

"But I don’t have my gear. We were supposed to be going just for the day…" Words evaporated as Isak tried to find excuses. But the last and only point was valid. His pack only held the things he'd need for a day out with the kids. 

Emerging from the dining room with Bo on his hip and a tote bag overflowing with, what Isak assumed were snacks. "I have everything you need: clothes, sleeping bag, wash stuff—unless you're particular. And I have a four-man tent."

In his wildest dreams, Isak wouldn't have thought to prepare for this scenario. They would be sleeping in the same tent? He was entirely sure he didn't have the fortitude to survive. " _Altogether_?" It was a meagre reply—croak would have been a more accurate term—but it was the only thing he could muster. 

"Yeah. It'll be cosy." Isak was convinced this was some test. He couldn't make out Even's face, just the crown of his head as he peered into the tote he grasped but it sounded like he was speaking through a grin—Isak wasn't sure how he could know that but there it was. 

"Bo isn't even half a person though," Christina put in to help. 

" _Shhh,_ 'Tina," came Bo's reply, objecting in the only way a two-year-old could as their dad snorted. 

"Bo is the king of starfishing. He can run out of space in a king-size bed." 

"Yes, but we can zip him up," she added. Bo called out the abridged version of his sisters name again in indignation. 

"Anyway, it'll work," Even added, popping Bo on his Wellington booted feet before shoving the stash of snacks in the larger bag. He glanced up at Isak. "Unless you don't want to. Which is totally fine." 

Isak's mouth went dry. What was he supposed to say? Half of him screamed to bolt out the door and run in the opposite direction and the other half was enjoying the preemptive notion of sleeping with a hard-on all goddamn night. He was a masochist. Those were not the kinda thoughts he should be having while on duty _and_ around kids. All the moisture in his mouth had migrated to the skin between his shoulder blades and his shirt. Isak was flushing. 

Something was tugging insistently on his sleeve, it was Christina’s hand. “You _have_ to come. Apparently there are these things called Selkies—which I do _not_ believe in—but we might see one.” It was perfectly illogical logic, and it swayed the argument. Was there any other answer other than yes? “And Nana made some dough for stick bread.” Isak was sold.

“We’re gonna have stick bread?” Her head was bobbing uncontrollably again. “Count me in.” Isak replied as cooly as he could, watching as Christina exploded with delight, hopping around in her own red wellies that she now wore. Even’s eyes were on him, Isak could feel them, but he wasn’t going to seek them out. There hadn't been a moment, prior to this, that he’d seriously considered whether Even mirrored his attraction. There was a plethora of fanciful notions that he’d played off as his very good imagination. But this seemed like something else; there was intent. He could feel it in the air between them; static before the storm. 

If he was right, this was going to be a disaster.

“If you need anything, we can stop by your dorm.”

Isak couldn’t avoid looking at him forever. In the least, it would make for an awkward weekend. As he met Even’s gaze, his skin turned to hot wax beneath his shirt. He was going to melt, right here and now. That was probably for the best. 

“I should be OK.” That was a lie. There was no way on earth that he would be OK. 

Even continued to stare at him, the look dug into Isak’s soul it was so deep. They were both aware, it was the only clear thing in this speculative situation. “You sure? It’s on the way.”

Nodding, Isak pushed his hands into his pocket. “I’m sure. I trust that you have it all figured out.” The smile he won stopped his heart. How was he going to resist? 

“Well, we have sausages, beans, hot chocolate, marshmallows—”

“ _Peas_ ,” Christina added while she helped Bo on with his sunglasses; baby aviators. 

“And a saucepan,” Even added with a snort of laughter. 

There seemed to be a glaring hole in their plan that only he could see. It was a welcomed detour from the humid thoughts that were trying to take precedence over his entire brain. He could do this, he could be cool and calm and fun. “You have all the things for s’mores, right?”

Christina glanced at her dad before frowning at Isak. “S’mores?” 

He rolled his eyes. “What are you teaching them?” The snarky question was directed at Even, who shrugged, a defensive expression on his face. 

“We’ve never been camping before,” he said as a way of explanation. 

Shaking his head, Isak planted his hands on his hips. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m here. S’mores, Christina, are only the food of the gods.”

“They’re good?” she asked leaning over the sofa arm, intent on him. Bo’s sunglasses were already pushed on to his forehead, her careful work undone. 

“A chocolate and marshmallow cracker sandwich. It’s heavenly. You can never have enough of them.” Mouth hanging open, she looked thrilled with the idea of this new foodstuff. And something in what he’d said made Even smile as he busied himself with packing.

“More,” Bo chimed in. 

“ _More_ s’mores,” Christina giggled. 

* * *


	13. Folk Tales

### Folk Tales

Isak had been looking forward to this moment before his plans had changed. But until that morning, and with another alteration, he had no idea he would be sharing it. 

The stage was down on the beach, below the cliff lip, far enough away that the music from the last band playing that evening was just an excitable murmur. The dark cloak of the sea was the most prominent thing outside of their cosy unit, that and the blanket of stars above them. The breeze tugged and pushed, like the tide, but they were all wrapped up warmly enough that it didn't chill. 

There were still a few fires lit along the clifftop. One of the caretakers would come around and make sure each was put out soon, but, for now, the crackle of wood was as soothing as the sea, or Bo’s chocolatey snores as he slept on his father’s chest—the evidence of a s’mores binge clear on any exposed skin and his fleece onesie. 

Christina was a comforting bonfire of her own, snuggled into his side. She was toying with the last stick bread, they’d run out of chocolate. Isak’s gaze danced across the waves or up to the stars before it would inevitably come to rest on Even’s hand, tracing slow circles over his son’s back. Isak's nerves and apprehension at surviving today had been dispelled once he'd remembered how easily they get on and how much fun they all had together. The mood had shifted completely by the time they were all packed in the car and Even had control of the music; his taste in music was appalling and Isak hadn't held back in teasing. There wasn't room with the kids around to allow those quiet intense bubbles escape to the surface in their shared moments. The day had been so busy with finding a plot, setting up camp, watching acts, playing by the sea, and cooking dinner with the inevitable clean up, that awkwardness seemed a foreign concept. Later, once the kids were asleep, it might be another story. But this? This was nice. 

"So which one am I?" Christina asked, trying her best to fight fatigue with never-ending questions. 

Isak shrugged. "Depends. Which one do you feel you are?" 

There was a thoughtful pause. "Remind me of which is which." 

"Well," Isak began, it was perhaps the third time he'd explained. "A Sprite is more like a spirit of the sea, attributed to mischief. A Siren is a creature that lures boats to the rocks—to crash," Isak hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not sure they do anything other than that. And a Selkie is a half human-half seal. The stories usually end up with someone stealing their seal skin so they can't get back into the sea, so they end up stranded." 

It was her turn to hum. It was an important decision, he'd give her that. "Can I be a mermaid instead? That sounds better." 

"You can." 

"What do they do?" 

Isak really only had himself to blame for the title he now held of Knower-Of-All-Things-Magical-And-Fairytale. In truth, it was wonderful to see such a studious and straight-laced girl suddenly fall headfirst into magical worlds. What did he know about Mermaids? "Well, they're called Merfolk, and they look after the oceans—the life, the environment. They can come on land but they have to keep it secret, otherwise, they would be in danger." 

"Why?" she asked, sitting up and concerned. 

"They are sensitive creatures who need to be free. Humans would try and keep them." 

Christina frowned, there was anger there on behalf of these hypothetical creatures that were entirely a creation of Isak's imagination. "Like the Selkie?" 

"I guess. But they don't need a seal skin to change back, just the seawater." 

She nodded now. "Then I will be a Merfolk. And I will never come on land." Crossing her arms, her stance was as firm as her words. 

"Wouldn't you miss your brother?" 

"I'll take him with me." 

Isak grunted a laugh. "But there's no s'mores under the sea." 

"We can meet you here," she grinned. "It can be a secret. And you can bring s'mores." 

"We can do just that." 

There was a lull in the conversation as Christina leaned against him once more. She yawned and started off on another tangent. If a little incoherent Isak still got the gist. "My dad likes swimming. He can hold his breath underwater for ages. You think he's Merfolk?" 

There was a snort from Even. "I'm right here." 

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't talk _about_ you," she retorted before returning her focus to Isak. 

"I mean, who's to say he isn't? That would explain why you're Merfolk, right?" 

Nodding enthusiastically she absorbed the story. "He is pretty magical," she added, the last word lost in another yawn. 

"Well," Even intercede, "I think this magical daddy needs to put you and your brother to bed." 

Christina was so tired she didn't even baulk. She did, however, have the energy to correct him. "It’s not a bed, it's a sleeping bag." 

Pushing himself from the nest of pillows they'd made on the blanket by the fire, Even tutted. His hold on Bo never wavered. "Well, it's _your_ bed for the night." 

If she'd wanted to retort it was lost to a third yawn, cracking her jaw. Her body nudged against Isak's. "G'night, Elf." 

"Goodnight, Mermaid." 

Isak watched as Even stooped into the tent, Christina crawling after him. Now out of sight, he cast his gaze adrift on the waves. The music had stopped, the hum from the beach was quieter; a lazy night in a hive of humans. He tried to keep his own busy bees of nerves under control. The tent was split: two _rooms_ divided by a compartment that acted as an entrance hall or a sitting space. The kids were together in one zipped up room, Even's sleeping bag and the one Isak was borrowing in the other. It would be fine, he was going to survive this.

"She called me _magical_ ," Even said, his voice as quiet as his approach. With no sign at all that any of this threw him, he plopped himself next to Isak on the pillows, grinning. "Magical." He sounded chuffed with the revelation. 

Isak found himself mirroring the pleasure, a smile curved his lips. "Is that so surprising?" 

He snorted. "Well, I know kids usually think their parents are superheroes. But," he shrugged, "she never really speaks like that, she's always talked like a mini adult. And it feels… like I'm an imposter? I don't know. I never feel like I do enough for them." 

"That's pretty much the hallmark of a great parent," Isak put in. 

There was a quietness, Even struggling to take the praise, or know how to respond. "Anyway, I like the effect you have on them." His breath was held for a moment, it sounded like he wanted to say more but left it there. 

"Just doing my job." 

Even tsked. "Are we competing for the most self-deprecating?" 

"Bring it," Isak said, raising the flask of water he had in a gesture to seal the deal. 

"I did bring a bottle of wine, but I think you'll probably decline." It was a statement-question hybrid. 

It was Isak's turn to pause. Even knew there was something beneath that fact. "I would. But don't let me stop you." The huffed laugh he added was half-hearted. 

Leaning back on the cushions, Isak felt Even scrutinise him, weighing up his next words. Then he shook his head. "I'm not a big drinker—too old for hangovers. Any reason, apart from that you really don't need to, that you don't?" 

Inhaling deeply, Isak closed his eyes. It would be the first time he'd tell anyone, people knew but not from Isak's choosing. Things could go wrong, not just in their friendship—or whatever this was—but work, too. On the flip side of that, there was an ease of truth between them. Isak didn't want to betray that. 

"You don't have to tell me," Even added quietly. 

"I’ve never told anyone before,” he mused mostly to himself. “The long or the short version?" 

"We have all night." 

Where to begin? The place he decided was with the catalyst for how he found himself where he now was in life. "I was an asshole when I was in school." 

The statement earned Isak a short grunt of laughter. "Who wasn't?" 

Isak sent him a sideways glance. This wasn't your regular kinda assholishness. "I was screwing around with my best friends boyfriend—behind her back." 

He nodded. Nothing in his face changed, the firefight made shadows dance, but Even was unmoved. Glancing back at Isak he raised an eyebrow. "That's not a long story, and it has nothing to do with alcohol." With everything he knew about Even and Sonja, he expected an uncomfortable reaction in the least. Even wouldn't judge him for that?

"I just figured—nevermind. Anyway, I thought things were more serious. I was seventeen," he snorted at himself, his naivety. "I said that it wasn't fair, what we were doing, and that he should break up with her. I said if he didn't tell her I would. And I wanted to, not just because of him, but it hurt. What we did." 

There was a moment of stillness. Logs hissing and sea breathing. "So he told her?" 

Isak shook his head. "He outed me at school, told everyone I was coming on to him, that I'd assaulted him, that he wanted nothing to do with me—I was sick, delusional." 

"Fuck." 

"Nothing I didn't deserve by that point." 

Even frowned at him. "That's… not true. But go on. She believed him?"

"It wasn't the first time I'd done something shitty to her. She forgave me before but this was the last straw, even when I told her my side and even if she believed it, I was still an asshole to her." His cheeks were warming, not just with relived shame but there was contrary ease unwinding his muscles at having someone to talk to. Someone he was sure wasn't judging him. Isak hadn't anticipated this sensation. Maybe this was going to be OK. "So I lost my friends, flunked my exams, fell all the fucking way out. I started drinking, partying. Had this shitty petrol station job that I have no idea how I kept. I was a mess, but I thought I was living my best life," Isak's laugh was sardonic. Back then, he would do anything to be drunk or high—he _had_ done anything. "Things blew up though. There was this warehouse party, someone was passing around pills. The first didn't do anything so I took three more. I don't remember anything after that. Woke up in a hospital, my mum crying next to me and the smell of disinfectant, blood, puke, and alcohol in my skin. I could smell it for _months_ .” Absentmindedly, Isak felt at his throat. He could remember the soreness afterwards, there and in his muscles. “My _best life_ almost fucking killed me. So I sat on my ass for half a year before something snapped: I reapplied for courses, finished school properly, got work experience at the school my mum works at… the rest is history, I guess." 

Even shifted back, relaxing next to Isak and looking thoughtful, but not perturbed by anything said. “You’ve come a long way. You should be proud of yourself.”

There was nothing he could do for the reaction that was swift: to duck his head, in shame or abhor—probably both. Proud? When he was, once again, feeling things for someone who belonged to someone else—technically at least. Ok, so then it had been lust and _this_ was something entirely different but there was no point justifying it, not even with what he imagined Sonja was doing; two wrongs didn't make a right. Being proud of yourself was easy enough to say, far from easy to do when you hadn't learned from your past fuck ups. All he could do was shrug. “Anyway, that’s the reason I don’t drink. Partly I’m terrified I’ll end up losing control, and the rest because just the smell of it makes me feel sick.”

“That’s understandable.”

Isak chewed his lip. “So, this doesn’t make you feel uneasy? I look after your kids.”

Even just laughed, his palm nudged against Isak's shoulder for a brief moment that poured warmth into Isak's bones. “If we were judged by everything we did in the past no one would let us get anywhere. I know the Isak here and now and he’s pretty awesome.” 

The heat in his cheeks was there for another reason now. “Fuck you,” he snickered. They’d reached the point in their _friendship_ where cuss words could be tossed around without offence—always out of earshot of the kids. Then he repeated in quiet bewilderment, “ _Awesome_ .” Even thought he was awesome? Despite what he now knew?

“I think you won.”

Frowning, Isak directed his gaze at Even. “Won?”

“The Self-deprecating crown.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “What do I win?”

Even considered the question carefully. “A story for a story?”

Rolling on to his side, Isak couldn’t help but become intent upon Even, he could anticipate what was going to be told somehow. “You can tell me anything, but there’s no necessity to tell me stuff—if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Even shrugged, watching the waves like Isak had been when he’d been considering how to tell his story. “I feel comfortable with you." It was said simply like Isak wouldn't know how monumental that would be, for this man to be comfortable with someone, even with the small portion of knowledge he'd been given so far. Isak's heart was in his mouth. "This will be the first time I’m telling anyone, too.”

Isak wondered if Even had felt the same anticipation, the same thirst, as he felt right now at the others confessions. It wasn’t for the sake of knowing, or being nosy, but the sensation of closing the distance between them. This made them closer, it made their relationship unique if they poured their secrets out for the other to see—bore the scars they worked so hard to hide from the world. He wanted Even to feel this way too, bitterly. And that was a dangerous thought. 

“We have all night,” Isak said softly, repeating the words Even had used to reassure him before. 

Huffing a gentle laugh, Even glanced over to Isak, a smile playing on his lips before he looked over his shoulder, back at the tent, straining to hear something. Isak caught what he was searching for: two sets of snores coming from the compartment the kids were sharing. Then he was back out on the waves, they lapped at the sand—grey in the moonlight. “Me and Sonja, we’ve been together since we were kids.” Isak had worked out that much at least by how old Christina was. "We grew up together. I was fifteen when we went on our first date." There was a softness in his face as he recounted, the memories, warm even if the present wasn't. "But by the time we were leaving high school we'd grown in ways," he added a gesture with his hands, fingers splayed, trying to slot them together where they wouldn't. "It's natural, I guess, growing apart. We argued, we didn't get on. But we ignored it, we thought that's what happens. Then," he laughed, it wasn't hard nor was it regretful. "Christina happened." 

Isak hesitated, not wanting to intrude on the story or interrupt Even's telling. But things began to make more sense, he could understand where the priorities lay where they did. But it wasn't as simple as just this, there was more; the hard bit was yet to come. 

"I was an asshole at first," he spared Isak a glance, aware that he was emphasising the point he'd already made, that everyone had done shit they weren't proud of. "I said I was too young— _we_ were too young, that I wasn't gonna be around. That she should—" He shook his head at himself, too ashamed to confess that part aloud but Isak heard it all the same. "I fucking stressed her out. But then the first scan happened… I told myself I'd do everything by the book, I'd do everything _right_." 

Isak took a deep breath, allowing the words to wash over him. He couldn't imagine how intense that would be, for either him or Sonja. "You do everything right," he put in softly. 

Dropping his head, Even silently disagreed before carrying on. "And then she came, this busy body baby that was already lifting her head, three hours after she was born, to make sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing." He was smiling again but it was short-lived. "But Sonja, she was," he shrugged in frustration, unable to find the words. "Everyone said it was the baby blues, that it would pass. But it didn't. Six months later I came home: Christina screaming in her cot, Sonja was in the bathtub sat in scalding water. Her skin was red for days. She just couldn't do it anymore." Even scrubbed a hand through his hair, taking a break from the past as he scoured the cliff top, then he forced himself to meet Isak's eyes. "It was hard." 

Isak nodded emphatically. He'd seen what depression could do, postnatal depression was the cruellest joke that nature could play. "I can't imagine." The words were the verbal version of the physical touch he ached to give. 

Mouth opening, Even stuttered a refusal, feeling unworthy of compassion. "I don't mean for me, for her. It was torture to see her like that and not be able to do anything. Everything I did do was wrong. I… was fucking helpless. But at least I _felt_. She didn't have that." 

Isak wanted to tell him it was OK to admit to struggling too; just because something was harder for someone else didn't mean what you were experiencing wasn't legitimate, didn't mean he hadn't needed care, too, and support. But now was not the time. "You both did well to get through it." 

It seemed the compromise worked. Nodding, Even looked to find his feet in the story once more. “So, I stayed home with Christina and Sonja went back to her studies. That then turned into her job. I picked up later with work when Chris was old enough for nature school. And when we were both working we grew apart, we were like friends living together, raising a kid but getting increasingly more resentful of each other because we weren’t being honest.” He took a deep breath, exhaling stress as the story was unfolding finally out loud. “I decided to speak to her about what we should do, and I'd planned it out, told her it was important. She came home late, drunk and upset over something—never found out what. I’d been drinking while she was out in an attempt to _not_ be angry with her. And the night went in a direction we didn’t expect; Bo decided it was time to shake things up.” Even paused, Isak could feel how much there was to say, how much had been at play over the years. This was simply the bare bones of it. “I put everything on hold again, she went back to work, we kept up the married couple charades… but everything became glacial. She wouldn’t look at me anymore—not and see me, you know?” He turned, directing the question at Isak in reassurance. All Isak could do was nod—he understood. “And I get it, it happens. To be honest, I didn’t feel like I did when we were younger, or when Christina was a baby anymore. I was long passed that point, but it still hurt to see how much she avoided me—even as a friend you wouldn’t. Does that make sense?” 

Isak nodded again. “It does. But it’s easy to want to hide from people physically when you’re hiding from the truth.” 

Even stared at him for a while before humming in agreement. “I guess so.” 

A quiet stretched out between them, Even lost to thoughts or words he didn’t know how to say. Isak wanted to keep the admission flowing, he told himself that it was beneficial for Even—which it was. But if he was entirely honest he knew there was more, and he wanted to know. 

“And so that's where you guys are at now?” 

The still held out a moment longer before Even shook his head. “She started seeing someone,” he snorted a laugh. “And the weird thing was that when I figured it out I felt relieved. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because it proved that something wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. And she started smiling again. I still loved her enough as a friend, as the mother of my kids, to want her to be happy—I saw her at her worst.” 

Isak swallowed. “How long?”

“For as long as Bo has been alive. But maybe longer than that. I don't know.”

Listen and observe mode was harder to assume; Isak had so many questions. This had been going on for at least two years? “Why—” Isak wasn’t quite sure how to finish that question without sounding emotionally involved. “So, what did you guys decide to do?” 

Frowning in confusion Even stared at him. “She’s never told me. I was never nosy enough to try and figure it out by myself but she’s just really lousy at covering her tracks. I think she wants me to know without telling me so that it’s my responsibility to break apart the habit that we’ve been living.”

Isak’s mouth was hanging open. “That’s not—” there was no other word for it, no matter how petulant it sounded. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not. But, at the same time, she blames herself for not loving the kids the way a mum _should_ —which is nonsense but she’ll never stop believing that. I don’t think she wants to be the one who hurts them in this way— _if_ they’re hurt because of it.” 

It was an understandable perspective but one that didn’t thrive off logic. Kids knew, they just did. And when their parents were miserable then became the child. As time went by, they would see more and more. The position they were in, and the stalemate that had followed, Isak could empathise with. But things had to change.

“It’s not sustainable,” Isak said, as gently as he could. 

Even studied his face, lips parted, sadness and desperation shining in his eyes. “I know. I don’t want to live like this, but I don’t want to be the one who fucks it up. Everyone will think it was me, they’ll assume—I tried so fucking hard to do everything right. _Fuck._ ” he threw up his hands. Frustration was the least he should feel. 

“People will always think what they want, Even. You have to think about your happiness because you deserve it, just like everyone else: Christina, Bo, Sonja...” 

A solemn expression marred Even’s face. “I know,” he admitted, so softly it was almost lost to the sea. "But it's hard." Isak was nodding in agreement, for no one's benefit but his own. Somehow Even felt it, his gaze settling on Isak once more. "What about you?" The frown that was returned was enough of an answer. "Happiness?" Even added. 

Isak shrugged. "I'm happy enough. I study, I have a great job," he grinned as Even snorted a laugh. But there Isak stopped. What else did he have? There was nothing more to list. His mirth cooled quickly. "I don't need much." 

The expression Even wore softened. Whatever truths they were admitting aligned them somehow. As much as it was their own pain they bore, the strongest emotion was empathy for the other soul sat out here under the stars. 

"Friends?" 

"I never really made any after I fucked up with Eva—my best friend. Acquaintances, yes. People to get fucked up with, but they flaked when I went off the rails. Then I was so focused on studies and work I just didn't have time. Now I'm here," Isak shrugged again. "I’m a first-year that doesn't drink, five years older than everyone else. I'm literally the most uncool student on campus." 

"The kids think you're pretty cool," Even said, the smile was as warm as Isak imagined his hugs were. 

"And that's high praise," Isak mused, not in the least sarcastic. 

"I think you're cool—whatever that counts for." 

"I think it counts for a lot. An artist? With their own lounge-studio-club-whatever? Selling art internationally? A dad to two great kids?" There were more things he could add but they weren't entirely appropriate. And there was that almost embarrassed expression that came whenever Even felt he was being complimented, dropping his head and gaze. "I thought I'd already won that competition?" 

Confusion quickly broke to amusement as his words were deciphered. "I'm not looking to steal your crown, Your Highness Of Self Deprecation." Isak snickered, entirely focussed on propelling their conversation to lighter things, but he was beaten to the post; Even wasn't done. "What about love?" Isak intended to reply, but the only thing that came out was a series of sputtered sounds that made Even grin. He hadn’t anticipated that question. “Love, relationships, fun with another human that isn’t really platonic—you know.” Even prompted. “Have you been with anyone since your best friends boyfriend?”

That was a more specific ask that Isak could just about answer. “There were times, when I was a mess, I would fuck around. But it was never anything serious. I was trying to fill the void.” 

“No one since?”

Isak shrugged. This should be intrusive but it wasn’t, it felt inevitable. “No. But I haven’t really been thinking about it, to be honest. And even if I had been there’s never an opportunity. Or I just… never met anyone.”

“Done with flings?” Even asked, picking at a thread on his sleeve. He looked distracted but Isak heard the edge on the words that spoke of a question that had been dared to speak out loud. 

Snorting a laugh, Isak tried to sound as casual as Even was trying to act. “What is this twenty questions?” But his laid-back demeanour fizzled out when Even met his eyes, raising an eyebrow. Then it was a simple matter of making sure he was breathing. They were doing it again, that thing where they both went quiet but the air was buzzing with electricity. There were questions and answers and gestures all being constructed in the small space separating them, in silence. But Even’s lips parted, he inhaled in preparation to voice one of those strands of thought. Isak’s stomach tensed. Was Even asking because he was interested? And if he was interested was it in just a fling? Is that why he asked? Maybe all he wanted was some fun like he’d said: fun with another human. That was something Isak could _not_ do, not something casual and never something down low. 

A sound came, preluding the question or statement, as Even cleared his throat, but his words fled back into their silent realm as footsteps came to a halt near their temporary plot. 

“You’re gonna need to put out the fire.” 

If Isak hadn’t been so disoriented, by his thoughts and anticipating Even, he would have laughed at the apt choice of words.

Whatever hesitation had been present in Even was now gone, he smiled at the caretaker. “We will.”

“Good. A little spark left can cause havoc.” 

Isak only glanced at the man, he was an undefined shape in the evening light in any case, the low fire making his face into an abstract mask. Aside from that, there was a sudden feeling of guilt, of being caught out. He felt the need to reassure the interloper but before he could work moisture back into his mouth, and assert that every spark would be stamped out, the footsteps were retreating. 

“I’m gonna check on the kids,” Even said standing and wiping the seat of his jeans with his hands. “It’ll get cold without the fire. You ready to turn in?”

All he could do was nod. “Sure. I’ll sort this,” he said in a voice firmer than he felt, gesturing to the smouldering fire. 

“OK, good—awesome. I’ll see you in a bit—in the tent.” it was the first time Isak had heard Even sound awkward. Perhaps he was dizzy from the conversation plummeting to reality, as Isak was. He both craved to hear and was terrified of the words that had been left unsaid. There was a distinct feeling of walking into something and being completely unprepared.

Isak was tipping out water and stirring the ashes before Even had ducked back into the tent. This was the critical point of survival, sleeping cheek to jowl with this married man, who was in a complex situation, who probably wanted nothing but ease and lighthearted fun, who _liked_ Isak, who was insanely hot and not at all egotistical. There wasn’t a fire in the history of fires that had been as thoroughly put out as the one under Isak’s charge. When the ashes were not far off freezing against Isak’s palm, he decided that was procrastinated enough. Looking once more to the stars and the universe, for answers perhaps, a fat drop of rain landed on his nose extinguishing, in its own way, the stray thought that he might possibly sleep outside. 

The zip was open, stirring came from inside. The rustles of the sleeping bag against the mat indicated Even was settling himself already. Taking a final breath, Isak pushed aside the flap and ducked into the compartment. Did he zip it shut? That seemed pretty final. But then, zipping up the tent was what you did when you camped. Although the main entrance compartment was already completely closed. Floundering in indecision, Isak decided to pull the zip halfway down. There. That was a compromise. 

“Do you need a light?” Even’s voice eased gently across the quiet. It was the sexiest sound Isak had ever heard in his life. He needed to get a grip.

“I’m OK,” Isak stammered, fumbling along smooth polyester. If he had gotten here first he could have flipped the sleeping bag the other way, so they were sleeping top and tail. That would have been the better plan, Isak realised, as he groped around in the small space before sliding into the bag and pulling the zip half-up, just like the door.

The caress of Even’s exhales spun invisible ties around Isak where he lay. He meant to turn around, give Even his back, but Isak twisted towards the other body instead, joining the warmth, veering into the torture. But his head was down, chin against his chest, nestled inside his covers. It was warmer like this. 

“You cold?” Even asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

“No—I mean, I'm not now.” He tugged at the corner that he held around himself as an indication of what he meant.

There were a lot of possibilities in the quiet now, so many questions and suggestions, Isak’s head spun with the chances that he might hear them out loud. He was left reminding himself to breathe once more, every exhale sounded as heavy as Isak’s conscience felt. Even moved closer and panic flooded his lungs. What would he do? No, what would Isak let him do?

But all that followed was an amplified stillness before Even spoke in a whisper. 

“Your hand.” The words were delicate and concerned before a light touch landed on the only part of Isak outside of his covers—apart from his hair. The hand left gripping at the sleeping bag, fingers curled tightly around the material, the cool air kissing his skin. But he’d been as oblivious to that as he was unaware of the tremors that ran through him. Even would think he was shivering with cold. Isak had to stifle a gasp when the warmth of Even’s palm landed on top of his knuckles, long fingers closing around his fist. Isak was sure he'd never been touched before this moment. “I don’t want you to get cold.” That wasn’t going to be a problem anymore because Isak’s body heat was surging. 

Something urged him to move other than his brain, it was an innate response that Isak couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to—the atoms that made up his body aligning with Even's. Grip loosening on polyester, his hand turned into Even’s, their fingers slid together like a dance. He thought he heard a sigh of relief coming from the body next to him but it was hard to be sure over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Yet Isak didn’t stop there. Bringing his arm closer to his body, Even’s hand was tugged along, into the safety of his cocoon. 

“I don’t want you to get cold either,” he whispered back.

Isak curved around the hand he held, lips almost pressed to skin. So close he could kiss the warmth of Even’s body, so close he could push the tip of his nose against the back of Even’s hand to feel his pulse. Would it be as wild as Isak's? Maybe Even would be brave enough to stroke his cheek, and if he did would Isak be brave enough to tilt his head up, to find Even’s mouth in the dark? Because now he’d moved closer, Isak could feel the few centimetres between the crown of his head and Even’s chin—curved around Isak like Isak had enfolded himself around Even’s hand. Was he playing the same game of dare that Isak teased himself with? 

There was so much to say but if he opened his mouth, Isak was sure his heartbeat would be as loud as a drum—it reverberated in his throat, throbbed in his veins. Even sensed his turmoil, his thumb began to stroke soothingly over Isak's knuckles.

"Sweet dreams, Isak." 

The tide of panic turned, replaced with an easy flow of relief. And those three words unlocked his ribcage and tempered his exhaustive thoughts.

This wasn't wrong. They weren't doing anything wrong. 

* * *


	14. Catching Up

### Catching Up

Boxes. Why were they always rummaging through boxes? 

"There has to be a better system," Even mused out loud before sitting back on the barstool and staring at the cardboard. His hands were dusty. 

They'd done a wonderful job of collecting odds and ends through the years that complimented the aesthetics of their studio, starting long before the Caprice was a concept. But when there was no hope in displaying all the treasures—because they ran the risk of the place looking like a second-hand shop otherwise—a hefty chunk of the collection ended up in unmarked boxes in the storeroom. Today Even was looking for a crystal decanter. The CEO they were entertaining had a taste for whiskey but he liked it to be served in a particular way. He wasn't sure he brought the premise that liquor tasted better from crystal but he wasn't about to argue, not when so much was at stake. 

It wasn't in this box though. There was, however, an old silk scarf with tassels all along the edges, one end dangled over the side of the box. They were gold—the tassels. Even reached out, letting his finger flow over one soft strand. And as easy as that he smiled, taken back to Sunday morning where he'd woken up to a mass of blond hair that his nose was buried in. Neither of them had moved an inch in the night, having found something, at last, to hold on to, Even didn't want to shatter that peace. He hoped it was the same for Isak. It wasn't more than one silent minute they'd had—stirring at the same time and feeling unashamed that their fingers still locked together—before the kids had exploded into their side of the tent. The rest had been all ease and no worries. Even began to feel Isak's eyes on him, when he wasn't looking. It was the same gaze he let himself steal when he thought Isak wasn't aware. He knew now that Isak must have known, he'd feel those looks because they were heavy— _heated_. 

"Alright, what gives?" 

The words seemingly came out of nowhere; the intrusion abrupt. Even grabbed the bar stool with his free hand to stop himself from falling out of his chair. "Would you stop creeping around?" The expression Even found when he glanced across the bar, to the storeroom door where his business partner stood with yet another box in hand, was purely incredulous with perhaps a small measure of amusement. 

Mikael snorted a laugh and shook his head before proceeding to dump the box next to the one Even had been searching. "I'm not fucking creeping. _You_ are away with the fairies—" he paused to smirk before continuing his train of thought, "or should I say elves—while fondling a scarf." 

“I’m not—” Even began in his defence before dropping the material he was holding. He had in fact been fondling a scarf. Disgruntlement settled on him due to the fact that Mikael had been asking enough questions of Christina to find out about the elf business. Although to be fair, Chris probably said it of her own accord. “Nothing gives.”

He took the stool on the other side of the bar, facing Even. “You are the worst liar I’ve ever met, Even. Plus I know what you guys got up to over the weekend, thanks to my sources.” He grinned. Christina wouldn’t have been discreet about that either. “But I’m sure there are some undisclosed details.”

“Nothing happened.”

“So why are you all moon-eyed and shit?” 

Sighing, Even wiped his palms on his jeans. This was after all his best friend and if he couldn't be trusted with this, no one else could. Besides, Mikael wouldn’t give up on the questioning. “Nothing _bad_ happened.”

“Bad is entirely subjective.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So, you didn’t do what Sonja’s been doing?”

The look that Even levelled at Mikael was hard, unsure what he wanted to do more: defend his honour or berate his friend for speaking so clearly about what Sonja was doing. They'd spent the last year or more talking code about the whole literal affair, this seemed harsh. But it wasn’t untrue. “No. I didn’t. I wouldn’t if we were alone, let alone my kids being there.”

But Mikael continued to look him in the eye, unapologetic of his phrasing. Even supposed it was time to start tackling the bull by the horn. “But something happened.”

Reaching for the box, Even intended to ignore the question and focus on the decanter—they needed it for this afternoon. But it was pushed further down the bar, out of his reach. “We talked, OK?”

“About?”

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

Even snorted a laugh. Deflection and half-answers were not working “He told me about the things he’s been through and I told him about… everything.”

A frown bloomed. “Everything? With Sonja?” Even nodded. “I don’t think you’ve told _me_ everything." That was true, everything Mikael knew was guesswork, even if the clues were in abundance and clear as day. "But that’s progress. And he didn’t run off screaming?”

“No. He understood, both me and Sonja. I think.” It was heartening to see empathy, not just for himself but for her. It wasn’t about taking sides, there were no winners or losers when kids were involved. 

“That’s... mature,” Mikael mused. He'd always struggled to relate to Sonja. “So, you had a heart to heart. That was it?” The brief hesitation that Even gave was motivation enough for him to persist. “I knew it. What else?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Even didn’t want to say it out loud, it seemed private. 

“You kissed?”

“No.”

“You sucked his dick?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Miky— _No_. And that _would_ be... bad.” But it wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. That didn't mean it had to become public knowledge, however. And that was the tip of the iceberg when it came to Even's imagination, it was difficult to speak at times because his brain would be so caught up in fantasies that would ambush him anywhere and everywhere. And he didn't need much for a spark, for example, the innocuous scarf that still peeked from his hiding space and caught Even's eyes every few moments or so. There was so much he wanted to say to Isak. So much he wanted to do. He had no idea where he would start when he had the opportunity. The talking _should_ come first, of course—that was only right. And for that, he would need to speak to Sonja. Yet the notion of kissing Isak every time Even saw his lips was so compelling. 

“I’m invested, shit-head. Tell me.”

Closing his eyes, Even sighed. “I held his hand.” There was no quick and witty response, so Even dared to look. His friend was staring at him, a blank expression on his face. 

" _You held his hand?_ " 

"Or he held mine— _we_ held each other's hand. At night— _all_ night. It was…" Even trailed off, there was no way to describe how intimate it felt, that simple act. But he frowned at the smirk that his friend wore. "What?" 

"Nothing," he protested. "I just realised how old I am now because I find hand-holding cute." 

There was a heat in Even's cheeks. Mikael found it _cute?_ The need to explain took over. "I feel like I've been in a bubble at the bottom of the sea for so long." Alone. Untouched. "You know, be Even the human, not Even the dad, or Even the artist, or Even the _husband_ ." The last word twisted in his mouth. "I haven't felt anyone, you know?" Mikael nodded, sobriety had drowned the amusement. "And I _feel_ him. Just touching his hand, it was—" Even sighed, frustrated at his lack of eloquence. "It was already intimate in a way, but touching him felt different from anything else." 

“And what’s happened since?”

“Nothing, everything has been normal.” As normal as it could be. They had been keeping to the routine since, Even coming home, they would talk, joke, the only development had been a light touch here—on Isak’s shoulder, and one there—on Even’s elbow. It wasn’t exactly nothing, it was progress for them both, but nothing was in any way immoral. When the air grew heavy and still Isak would always leave and Even would never try and keep him. 

"Do you know what he wants?" 

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Even worried his lip. "From what I can tell I don't think he would want something that's _not_ serious. He has his own issues, and I think he needs honesty—integrity." 

Mikael studied him, visibly trying to word his questions correctly. "Hypothetically, would it not be an incredibly shit idea to go from being married straight into something serious?" 

Even shrugged. "Maybe. But I've been alone so long… we haven’t even been pretending since Bo was born." 

"In that case," he said, sliding his laptop onto the bar and opening the lid. "You're gonna have to speak to Sonja." 

"I'm going to. There's no time today or tomorrow with all this," he gestured at the boxes on the counter, "she has therapy Thursday. My aim is to speak to her by Friday. There should be time at some point when the kids are asleep and we're both in the house." He ignored the sceptical look that met him now at that optimistic sentence. "And then I'll probably stay in a hotel once it’s done." It was a list he was making for himself more than anything else, and it felt like something was different, now it had been said out loud. It was real; this was happening. It felt different now, it felt like there was hope. Maybe everything wouldn't just fall to destruction.

Mikael’s fingers were tapping at the keyboard. "I can ask around. Might be someone I know is looking to rent something out…" he trailed off, frowning at the screen before his glance flickered to Even. "Are you still on the mailing list—for Sonja's work?" 

Even hesitated, baffled by the change in topic. "I don't know. I think so," he said, about to pull his phone from his pocket before Mikael stalled him, raising a hand.

"You should go ahead and skip it." 

"Why?" 

"I just think—" But Even didn't give Mikael enough time to explain what he thought as he spun the laptop around 

It didn't take too long to understand what it was Mikael was talking about. The email was a newsletter, there had been an event on the weekend—the one Sonja had attended. Whatever it had been for would remain a mystery because Even didn't have the desire to read any of the text, but there had been a black-tie event. There was a string of glossy photos, people smiling in high definition, sparkling like chandeliers in accessories contrasting against the dark of suits and gowns. And there was Sonja, perhaps unaware of the photo being taken, holding hands with someone. Yet it wasn't just _someone_ —Even knew him. It was her boss. 

And, again, Even surprised himself with his initial reaction. He'd never tried to work out who it was, he hadn't wanted to, even if there were only a few options as to who it might be. The relief was the first thing to register. "At least it's not the therapist." 

There was a deadly silence. He looked up to find Mikael gawking. " _What_?" 

He shrugged. "If you fuck around with your patients you get struck off." 

"And that's your first concern?" 

"Well," he sighed. What was he supposed to say? He'd long since adjusted to what was going on, even if it was vague. "It's not news." 

As huff of frustration was the reply before impassioned words followed. "That's not the point. What _is_ the point is that she has no goddamn issue with being public about the fact she's with someone else. Christ, I know she's been through it, but so have you. That is not an excuse to treat you like… like _this_. It's fucked— _beyond_ fucked." 

The words stoked the anger that had been smouldering for years, but Even swiftly put a lid on it in the well-practised way he'd learned. "And I'm doing something about it, OK? It's not gonna carry on." 

"Promise me?" 

"I promise." 

* * *


	15. Back and Forth

### Back and Forth

“But what does that mean?”

 _“It doesn’t mean anything. I just have to rest. And Lea is helping me do that.”_ It wasn't the first time she'd had to affirm that, and it wasn't the first time in this conversation that Isak had danced around questions aimed at himself. It wasn't just to avoid lying to her, but he needed reassurance. 

Isak frowned at his ceiling. Going from the cold of outside to the warm in his dorm, with the added bonus of exertion from cycling, he was sweaty and physically uncomfortable. This particular topic made him mentally uncomfortable. The feeling of helplessness was excruciatingly frustrating. “Is it like pneumonia?”

_“In a way. It’s a viral thing—what I have. Pneumonia is a bacterial thing. Apparently.”_

“What difference does that make?”

 _“I don’t know,”_ she huffed a husky laugh. _“But I will live, stop worrying. And stop trying to distract me.”_

Isak rolled his eyes. He wasn’t—not really. Or if he was trying to distract anyone it was himself. His fingers were itching to be busier, preferably texting Even. But he was desperately clinging to restraint. He shouldn’t. It wouldn't be right. “I’m not. Bronchitis is not a little thing, especially not—”

“ _‘Cos I’m old?_ ” she finished, amusement made her words sing. 

“No. I didn’t mean that. It’s just you stress a lot, and then there's the weather… I have a right to be worried about you.”

She hummed, appreciative but not in agreement. _“I hear you, but there really is nothing to get anxious about.”_

He wanted to argue back because the distance between them made his anxieties ten times worse, but that wouldn't solve anything. “I’m glad Lea is there.” That took a lot for him to admit. They had their differences, but no matter what Isak thought of her she was another pair of eyes and hands—even if they weren’t quite as adept at helping their mum as Isak’s were. “But I can come back, I’m ahead of my studies—”

 _“No,”_ she cut in firmly. _“No. Isak. You will not.”_ Isak knew that clipped tone well enough to know there would be no persuading her. 

“OK,” he sighed. “OK. But just let me know what’s going on, or if there’s anything I can do. Please?”

She was chuckling now. _“You can do one thing for me.”_

And he knew what that was going to be. “What’s that?” he asked, as light and innocent as he could muster.

_“Tell me about your weekend?”_

“It was fun.” He might have been able to carry the lie he'd concocted last week if she hadn’t called when they’d been driving home and his phone hadn’t been within arms reach of Christina. Isak had been engrossed in a discussion about how important it was to restrict the kids’ access to Gabrielle—even Bo could sing along to some of the songs—while Even was scoffing at his _music snobbery._ Too engrossed, in fact, because Isak didn’t realise Christina was talking to someone on the phone—on _his_ phone—until they'd begun a conversation about Isak’s favourite cartoons. Who knew what else they’d discussed.

There was a telling pause. _“Just fun?”_

“I don’t know why you’re asking. You already had a very lengthy conversation with someone who told you all the details.” But he couldn’t help but smile. Christina was very intent on getting to know his mum, and Isak’s mum had no other choice but to be charmed by her. 

_“I’m sure there are some things she doesn’t know. Are you being careful? You’re tempting fate, you know that, right?”_

He huffed an impatient sigh, simply because she was stating out loud the thoughts he heard in his own head—over and over. “It wasn’t my idea, OK? I was supposed to be taking the kids and then… well, the plans changed a bit.”

_“And you couldn’t say no?”_

“I could have but it would have looked weird. I mean, what excuse would I use? Sorry, no-can-do because you look like a dude from a film my nan used to watch and that I had a crush on?” Perhaps he would have found an excuse if there’d been time to think about the scenario that ambushed him, but, considering the stubborn and stupid part of him that had wanted to go, there wasn’t a reason that would have held up. If he was honest with himself, there were absolutely no regrets either. 

_“Well, it was overtime—going with the kids. And dad became available. There was no reason for you to go,”_ she mused.

“But they wanted me to go.” It was blurted out before Isak had time to evaluate the words. 

_“Including Even?”_

Isak froze for a heartbeat, unsure how to play this. But lying to his mum had ended in disaster. And they really hadn't done anything wrong, even the lazy way they'd stirred Sunday morning, their fingers coiling and tightening where they held each other. “Yes.” There was a heavy sigh on the end of the phone but before she could retort with advice that would be wise and severe, Isak continued—albeit with cheeks flushed and stutters. “It’s complicated, mum. But we’re not doing anything wrong—honestly. I wouldn’t—”

_“Isak, I know. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone like this. But I’m worried about you hurting yourself.”_

He took a deep steadying breath. “That’s not going to happen.” Wouldn’t it? 

_“So what are you doing? You and him.”_

“I don’t—” Isak began before breaking off, considering what exactly they were doing. “We get on well—really well. I haven’t talked to anyone the way I can with him. And he can talk to me. I think that means a lot. We’ve both been alone for a long time.” Isak didn’t feel comfortable talking about Even’s life, nor Sonja’s for that matter. So that would have to be sufficient for his mum. “And that’s all.”

The sound of fidgeting was all that came as a response. Isak could imagine his mum adjusting her skirt, or rolling up her sleeves, the way she would when there was something burning in her to say but a larger part was trying not to tell someone about themselves. _“I trust you, Isak. Just tell me if anything… goes wrong. OK? Or if you think it might go wrong.”_

Jaw unclenched with tension that Isak was unaware he held. Yet the acknowledgement that he was definitely playing this off as to sound less dangerous than it truly was kept him from feeling fully relieved. “You know I will.” 

She sighed. _“I love you. You deserve good things, despite what you might think. I want you to have someone nice.”_

What could he say to that? It was her gentle way of saying that this was not for Isak. Most probably she was right. How would it ever work without causing massive upheaval and hurt? That was the tip of the iceberg. Isak wasn't any clearer on what Even wanted from him. It couldn't be for anything serious, it didn't make sense for Even to want that with him. Yet when he opened his mouth it wasn’t to agree or soothe. “He _is_ nice.” And it was the truth, Even was the nicest person he’d ever met. 

There was no way to mask the groan on the other end of the line. “ _Oh, sweetheart,_ ” she said, a note of despair in her voice. “ _And married, unless something has changed since we last spoke_?”

“Well, he is, but like I said it’s complicated.”

Another non-committal hum. _“Just don’t compromise yourself.”_

“I won’t. Anyway, I’m tired. It’s been a long day, I need to sleep.” He didn’t mean to sound short but it’s exactly how it came out. And yet she didn’t flinch, she didn’t take it personally; she knew him. 

_“OK, I need some rest, too. I was out in the garden again trying to sort out that damn paving. I want a vegetable patch.”_

His mum was out in the garden in autumn trying to lift concrete paving with bronchitis? He really was going to jump on the next train and she would only have herself to blame for it. “Wait until I’m back in the holidays, please," his voice was pained with the frustration it held. "I’ll do it. I don’t want you to sprain a muscle or break a hip, or whatever it is you old folk do.”

She snorted a laugh. “ _I’ll wait then_.”

“Good.”

“ _Good night, sweetheart._ ”

“Night.”

A silence dragged out after she’d gone, and he continued to analyse the ceiling above him. The wind began to batter the window, there was a crack somewhere because the blinds began to tap against the frame as a low whistling began to rise. With a huff, he pushed from the bed and crossed the room, throwing open the window sharply before ramming it closed with a thud. It locked properly this time. Turning back to the bed, his eyes fell on the phone where he’d left it. The conversation that he’d started to distract himself from his desires hadn’t worked. His fingers still itched. But he could ignore it, he would— 

The screen lit up. 

Isak swallowed. It would be too much of a coincidence if it was Even, he reassured himself. Probably just his mum; she’d forgotten to mention some other death-defying thing she was embarking on that would surely provoke Isak's anxieties. As he crawled back over his sheets, he wasn’t entirely convinced who it was he _wanted_ it to be. Swiping a finger across the screen, Isak only had enough courage to allow his heart to continue to beat, making his throat thrum. It was longing that forced him to tap the message. Of course, it was Even, he just knew it would be.

**_I was trying to get back in time to see you._ **

Isak scrolled back, not that he hadn’t stared at their messages before, but prior to this, it was all simply stated facts: _I’ll be back in ten_ or _I’m running thirty minutes late._ The responses on Isak’s side were uniform: _OK_. This wasn’t something he could answer in that way. What did it mean? Why did Even want to get back to see him? Isak knew he was busy the last two nights, that he wouldn’t see him until probably tomorrow—unless the routine had changed. 

**Is everything OK?**

There. That was a variation on _OK_. Only two words added. How bad could it be? Isak was left counting his inhales as he watched the bubbles dance while somewhere, not so far from him, Even was typing a reply into his phone. It took fifteen breaths. 

**_Everything is fine. I just haven’t seen you in two days. It feels weird._ **

Technically, this conversation was nothing alarming. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Just two people who enjoyed each other’s company. No lines had been crossed, even holding hands was innocent. Friends did that all the time, didn’t they? And friends texted like this, too. Except Isak knew what Even was saying. And he was about to reply in the same cryptic code to say _I miss you, too._

**I know.**

He stopped his thumbs there, but they wanted to write a novel. 

**_Hopefully tomorrow, though I’ll be dead on my feet._ **

**Same here**

It was thirty breaths before Isak got a reply, but the message was short. 

**_Can we talk this weekend?_ **

Heart in his mouth, Isak struggled to find a suitable reply because there were a lot of questions that questions encouraged. 

**What about tomorrow?**

Tomorrow was Thursday when Sonja would embark on her notorious after-counselling walks. It was a sure thing that Even would be the first home. And he'd just stated as much. Why couldn’t they talk then? 

**_Not at the house._ **

That didn't aid Isak's want to know exactly what this was, right here and now: Where? Why not at the house? And about what? But he hadn't answered Even's first question yet. 

**Just let me know when and where. I can be flexible.**

Three breaths. 

**_Thank you. I can't wait._ **

He couldn't wait? What did that mean? He was excited? Or was this his way of initiating a hookup? But Isak had only agreed to talk and that was all he would do. He _wouldn't_ compromise himself. And yet—past all those conclusions he was jumping to—excitement and anticipation swarmed in Isak's stomach. What if it was something else? Something he could do? Something good...

**Me too.**

Switching off the screen, Isak plugged his phone in to charge and leapt from the bed. He needed to keep moving, he couldn't wait on a reply. And the urge to tell Even about his week, or ask about how the event had gone, just _feel_ Even's company in some shape or form was excruciating. 

Grabbing his towel, Isak headed for the shower. If he rammed the temperature up as high as possible that would drain the last remaining drops of his energy, there would be no desire left to do anything but pull his duvet around himself and sleep.


	16. Baggage

### Baggage

Turns out, Even hadn't done a very good job at keeping that particular promise to Mikael. In his favour, it wasn't exactly his fault.

Time had trickled away, elevating the words that were burning to be out of him. He needed to speak. And now it was Friday evening, an evening he should be working until at least nine. But here he was, running home because Isak couldn't reach Sonja and Bo was sick. She was supposed to be home early—Even had been counting on it. Where was she? They _needed_ to talk. Yet he was too irritated right now to do so in the way he wanted. 

Even had decided to pack his bag, leave it by the door so she couldn’t miss the sign because she'd given any and all excuses to be anywhere but at the house, even refusing to come down to the Caprice during the day. The bag had been sitting there since Wednesday morning and Sonja hadn't taken a blind bit of notice. His message to Isak had received an instant response, and he was grateful for that despite it causing the awkward nervousness to thicken when they were together; the feeling of standing on the edge of a decision didn't make it easy for either of them in the waiting period. Yet his message to Sonja had gone ignored. What did she think he wanted to talk about? Wasn't that one of the signs where you knew something was seriously wrong? W _e need to talk_ speaks for itself, or so he'd thought. 

All of that he could bottle up, he could deal with her vagueness and avoidance easily. But tonight was the first time Sonja's behaviour had affected the kids directly. Bo was ill and she was... _incognito_? The lid on Even’s anger was becoming easier to lift, his grip on it unstable. 

The front door opened more enthusiastically than he'd intended, but caught the handle before it crashed against the door. It was lucky, too, because a frown met him as he stumbled inside, Isak was pacing with a red-cheeked Bo, head rested against Isak’s neck and his eyes closed. By the shushing noises Isak continued to make it seemed Bo had just got back to sleep. 

“He’s calmed down now,” Isak whispered as Even closed the door quietly at his back. “But his temperature's still high.”

“When did it come on?” Bo had been fine this morning when he'd dropped them at school.

“When I picked them up. The nursery leader said he was grizzly, he was getting warm and it just got worse. But there’s a bug going around—twenty-four-hour thing, they said a few kids had it.”

Even reached out to stroke Bo’s back. His brow was damp and hot, but he was snoring softly—body lax in Isak’s hold—stripped to his night time nappy to cool him off. “At least he’s calmer now. Sorry you were on your own.”

“It’s no big deal. I think he was mainly pissed at wasting food when he threw up,” Isak snickered. 

Even huffed a laugh. “Sounds about right." Dilemma at hand, their nervousness around each other had dissipated. Even forgot himself enough to lean in closer to Bo, laying a light kiss on his cheek. Isak didn't seem to mind the proximity. "I hate that too, little buddy," he whispered. 

“I cleaned him up, but he had a little more to go,” Isak turned as he spoke, there was a stain on the back of his t-shirt. The sour scent that came with the very last bits of sick containing mostly stomach acid was clearly present. Even had been home enough times when they were ill that it didn’t phase him at all anymore. “But not enough to get on the floor—I don’t think.” He gazed behind him, scrutinising the floorboards in case he’d been mistaken. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Here,” Even said, moving to take Bo. “Grab a shower, I’ll get him settled and bring spare clothes.”

“I still haven’t brought back what I borrowed last weekend.”

Shrugging, Even tried not to smile but it felt ridiculously good to see Isak wearing his clothes. He probably shouldn’t feel that way and he'd long since banished the notion. Isak's skin flush against material that had clung to his own body seemed too ridiculous to inspire arousal but Even didn't make the rules. “Don’t worry,” he murmured softly. “It’s not like anyone is going anywhere.”

Isak hesitated, gazing at Even as Bo was handed over. His eyes darted to the door, where Even’s suitcase sat—ominous and profound. There was something he wanted to say but instead shook his head. “OK. He should go down fine. I got some Calpol in him after the last bit of puke.”

He wanted to say that they _would_ talk and Isak would know exactly what was going on but instead Even simply nodded, words getting redirected because his tongue was tied. Clarifying things with Isak might be harder than saying what needed to be said to Sonja. He considered how he might broach the subject as he watched Isak ascend the stairs, two steps at a time. There was no time for daydreams now, there were things that needed to be done, Even told himself before slowly following the freshly laid footsteps leading him upstairs. And Isak was right, Bo barely stirred as Even laid him in his bed. The room was warm enough that only a light blanket was needed. Inevitably that would be kicked off, Even mused. Both Chris and Bo ran hot even in full health.

As he tucked in his son, two separate conversations were constructing themselves in his mind. They continued to be built upon as he grabbed spare clothes: a stern but short sermon for Sonja, and what was turning out to be a sprawling confession-turn-plea for Isak. Yet nothing he plotted out sounded right. Frowning, he reached the bathroom, lost in anticipated rebuffs and denials. His hand moved to knock but the door opened before his knuckles met wood. Every last thought evaporated like the haze of steam behind Isak, who was now standing at the threshold with a towel around his waist. 

A small part of Even's brain was suddenly and furiously occupied, filing away the fact that Isak took very short showers, but the vast majority of his simple grey matter was instantly obsessed with the pale marble-like skin that filled his vision. His mouth was open, he knew it, but was unable to close it. A thought intruded rudely and abruptly, shouting at the top of its lungs that Isak's nipples were the same colour as his lips. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Sorry. _Fuck_ ." Even finally found the decency to look away, mainly because the messages his eyes were sending were bypassing his brain and going straight to his cock. And that _was_ bad. Hand reaching out blindly, he dropped the clothes in what he assumed was an outstretched arm. 

Fuck. Isak was toned. Stupidly so. All Even could boast of was a well-lived in dad-bod. What was he thinking? 

There was a small measure of relief at hearing Isak make a spluttered and flustered sound. In his peripheral, Even could just make out motions that indicated the towel was being adjusting, hitching it as high as was safe with one hand while he cradled the clothes to his chest. 

"It’s my fault. I should have…" There wasn't anything to add on. It was kind enough for Isak to apologise but completely and utterly unwarranted. What was he supposed to do? Wear a bell around his neck so Even could hear him coming? 

"It's not—there's no problem," Even assured. "I just… I'll be downstairs,” the words were stammered out as he tried to flee down the stairs, feet as unsure as his words. Thankfully Isak didn’t laugh at him, the bathroom door was shut just as quickly as it had opened. Was he feeling just as ambushed by hormones? Were his thoughts as lewd?

The place to calm down was apparently the bay window, in the living room, that looked out onto the garden, driveway, and road that passed by the end of their front lawn. It had become a shrine to the kids; pictures dotted every square inch of the window sill. It was the only cluttered area in the house. Even’s thoughts slowed as he looked at them, focusing on Chris wearing a giant strawberry costume one Halloween when she was three, or Bo at one-month-old being cradled by his big sister. This time she wore a bored expression. What could you expect from a six-year-old when they had to stay still for more than a minute? There was a mish-mash of colours and ages and activities, but the unifying factor were the smiles they always wore. This house was built around them and it was left to Even to destabilise that. It didn’t seem just, but now he could see that leaving things to fester as they were was not fair on them either. Running away wouldn’t help him anymore. 

His gaze wandered outside, into the dreary night through the narrow slits in the blinds, distracted from the happy memories by the dire issues that needed to be dealt with. The weather had made a decisive turn towards winter; it was cold, the rain was heavier, mirroring his sudden mood. He wasn’t sure which he prefered: perverse thoughts about Isak jumping on him unexpectantly, or this. But was there anything more to his feelings than desire? Need for escape?

It could have been the warmth in Isak’s touch or his words that pulled Even from bleakness, whichever it was he was grateful. Relief poured into him with Isak’s presence, there was an instant comfort at the courage that he now had to lay a fingertip on Even’s arm, and in the words themselves. “You OK?” Because Isak saw him and felt him— _knew_ him. 

And Even knew the clearness, the honesty, that would meet him in Isak’s eyes. “No,” he replied, just as crystalline. He’d never felt so capable of speaking about his feelings. Just as soon as Even would doubt whatever was between them as the excitement of something new, he was reminded just how unique it was— how valuable. How often did you find someone that just understood? Isak nodded, aware without being told, gaze darting once more to the suitcase. Before he could ask anything more, Even cut in with a question of his own. “Would you let me drop you off tonight?”

Isak licked his lips, pausing for a long and heavy moment before nodding. There was more to be said, and he attempted it, lips parting, but it would have to wait. The moment was sliced in two by light beams, flooding through the gaps in the barrier the blinds made, intruding into the sanctuary of Even’s home. They both watched as a car slowed to halt on the road outside. Even recognised the SUV. It belonging to Sonja’s boss. 

The stillness was deadly as the front lights were turned out and Isak and Even gazed upon a homely scenario played out for them. They looked like lovers—more so than Even remembered they'd ever been: smiling, laughing, and then they kissed before Sonja slid out of the passenger side and made her way up the path. Headlights on and wheels turning, her boss drove away. She gave a sideways glance to the car already parked in the drive, noticing it for the first time and what it implied. Her feet faltered. Even stood his ground, arms crossed, as she timidly opened the door and slipped inside. Her eyes widened when she saw them by the window. Isak was outside of his vision, almost at his back, but Evan could feel the discomfort radiating from him. 

“I thought you weren’t back until later?” she asked cautiously, bag sliding from her shoulder to land gently at her feet.

“I wasn’t supposed to be, but Bo was unwell and Isak couldn’t get hold of you.” His voice was iron, ungiving to his emotions yet you could sense the restraint it held—it vibrated in his throat. Calm was unobtainable at this moment.

It seemed to Even, at least, that Sonja welcomed that urgency of the new topic, downplaying what they were currently dancing around. “Is he OK?”

“He’s fine. We sorted it. He’s sleeping.” Each short sentence was clipped, it was as civil as Even was capable of being considering Sonja had the nerve to do what she’d just done in front of the house where their kids slept. Images from last weekend came to his mind, of his nose in Isak’s hair, of their fingers twisted together... in a tent he'd shared with the kids. But this was _not_ the same—he was sure of it. That was a desperate connection, a soul touching another soul, it wasn’t sordid. Sonja was literally carrying on a comfortable second life right under their noses. Did she do this often? Had Christina seen them? It was careless, in the very least.

The stalemate dragged out, Sonja’s gaze flittered to Isak and then back to Even before glancing at the window. She began to peel her coat off, trying to assume a casual air. “My phone’s in the car—I left it at the garage for servicing. Sorry, Isak. And then—um, Mark dropped me off—”

“We saw.” The ice in his words sliced through her explanation, yet it conflicted the heat of Even’s anger.

Her eyes were on him again, wider now. It was the first time in years that she'd looked unsure—scared almost. The memories that were conjured smothered his anger—and that wasn’t fair. His feelings were legitimate, too. Her fear right now was due to a mess she'd made on her own. “Even, can we—” she stepped towards him, but he moved away, toward his bag. She’d had years to address this and Even wasn’t in the calm mindset that was needed to talk things through, to put a full stop to their marriage. There was too much anger for him to control.

“Tomorrow. Or when I can. We’ll talk,” he said, pulling the handle out and tugging the case towards him.

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged. “To a hotel, dropping Isak home on the way. I’ll be back in the morning, I promised Chris we would make gingerbread. If there are any issues with Bo call me and I’ll be straight over. But he’s had medicine, he should sleep. Check that he’s warm enough.”

Her mouth was open, head swaying in a denial that was entirely naive. Did she think he had no breaking point? “Can’t we— “

“ _No_ ,” he snapped. She flinched backwards. “No, “ he added calmer by a few degrees. “It will have to wait.”

“What shall I tell the kids?”

Even was almost outside but he stopped at that question. The demand to reply sardonically was almost overwhelming. Instead, he looked back, taking in a deep breath before he replied. There was no point in being angry. “I’ve made enough excuses for you by now, Sonja. You’ll think of something.”

* * *


	17. Fools' Gold Rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The song that pretty much inspired this entire song, specifically this chapter is: [Breathe by Mako](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJ6Ao32rsPc))

### Fools' Gold Rush

The normal ease of their banter was painfully vacant. Statements and questions were jarring; everything felt the wrong shape forced into specific holes; fumbling a way to string a handful of exchanged words into a meaningful conversation was too taxing. 

If Even was suffering from the same affliction as him, it was because there were too many thoughts flying through his mind—slippery thoughts that were hard to grasp and make coherent. It seemed inevitable where they were going, the destination not necessarily Isak's dorms. It was a vague shared awareness that neither had the strength to address. 

When they parked, Even let his hands rest on the steering wheel, staring through the windscreen intently. It didn’t seem right to leave abruptly throwing a goodbye over a tense shoulder. Isak didn't know what he wanted to do—or what he _should_ do. Wants and morals were playing tug of war with his insides and nausea needled him as unsureness kept him statue still. Just as he'd decided to speak—to say he should go—Even opened his mouth. 

"I need some fresh air," he muttered. 

Isak nodded. "I'm just there," he pointed out the entrance to his dorm. 

Even didn’t respond except to seek out where Isak’s finger had directed. He opened his door, Isak moving two agonizing heartbeats later. The walk was just as silent, Even thrust his hands deep into his pockets—looking inward, yet trying not to focus on Isak. Whether absentmindedness and active avoidance could be mixed together was a debate Isak didn’t have the energy for. 

Halting at the double doors, a bright light from the entrance hall spilt through the glass; the dire beam of a lighthouse. The evening security guard was away from his desk, a victim to the current of neverending rounds. There they stood—the silence of night tormenting, the dark wind ushering, and the light drawing them in. Isak’s tongue was thick and his mouth dry. He was going to throw up. Saying goodnight and going straight up without looking back—that would be the right thing to do. 

"I have coffee," he stuttered, heart stopping. _That_ was a move. He wasn’t supposed to make a move. It wasn't right. Why the fuck had he said it? Greed, he knew it. Or selfishness—it definitely hadn’t come from a good place. Hadn’t he learned anything from his mistakes? Or maybe this was simply a way to grasp a few more of the usually golden and easy moments he shared with Even—despite this being anything but easy. The atmosphere was utterly repressive, yet Isak couldn't let go. "It's shitty granules, not proper beans," he stated, trying to hand over a reason to decline politely, to turn him down. What would he prefer happened now? If Even left at least he would be able to breathe, embarrassment and pretence were not below him—Isak had dealt with worse. On the other hand, he was sure there was no way to deal with being alone with this particular human in his small room other than giving in. Surrender enticed and persisted. He wasn’t strong enough...

Isak’s gaze fluttered to Even in the quiet that followed his fumbled ask. Pressure rolled over him; storm clouds descending, soon they wouldn’t be able to see the light or know right from wrong. Even was staring at him wide-eyed, chest rising and falling heavily. Intense wasn't something he did by halves. The only answer he gave was a nod. 

They were moving again, through the cloud. Perhaps it was all a foggy dream. If there was any fairness in the world he would wake up. Isak had taken the same path countless times before, yet this time he was numb. He wanted the journey to be longer, another few flights of stairs might shake the oppressive humidity but he doubted it. It took three attempts to open his door, nervous fingers unable to aim straight. When the key hit home and it turned, he walked briskly inside, heading for the kettle to prove that he did, in fact, have coffee and this could be as innocent as Even might imagine it was. 

His eyes closed as Even pulled the door to; a Judge had passed sentence, the hammer coming down, wood against wood, to pronounce anticipated guilt. And the silence was a torture method, he was sure of it. Lines of desperate conversation passed through his head, but none made it out of his mouth. His hands shook as he placed the kettle on its power base. Then he reached for the coffee jar. “It really is bad coffee,” he stammered out, a last-ditch attempt at calling off whatever car crash was about to ensue. 

“I don’t want coffee.” It was the first thing Even had said in—what felt like—an eternity. Isak wanted to laugh, surely it was a joke. However, only basic functions were currently achievable. 

And Even wasn’t laughing. 

It took all his courage to look up from the kettle as it began to boil. His mouth opened, to ask what Even _did_ want—there was tea, too, milk, water. Those desperate thoughts came to a stumbling halt. 

Even was standing just inside the room, hands still shoved into his pockets. His stance gave the distinct impression that each of his feet was planted on two separate icebergs, pulling away from each other. The decision had to be made over which one to choose. Left or right; to stay or to go. When Isak met his gaze, the same harrowing emotions wracking his body echoed loudly, written in crystalline blue. There was a silent plea being communicated alongside dangerous intensity that couldn’t be denied. 

The coffee jar clinked against the desk as it landed, his hands refusing to grip onto it any longer; glass was no substitute for warmth—for skin. Isak’s capacity to stay at bay eroded. Fatigued by this silent dance around each other, his knees weakened to the point of buckling. The weight of this storm, swelling with each tick and tock of his wall clock, was unbearable. Isak plucked the last remaining thread of strength so as to move his tongue. The sounds that came were begged and Isak could do nothing about that; 

“ _Do something_.”

Metal chains coiled themselves around him, encasing his chest and keeping every part of his body immobile, except his mind—whirling and pitching like a fairground ride. It was impossible, just _impossible_ , not to give in and yet he still couldn’t be the one to decide. He _couldn’t_ be the one to make the decision or to move. It was almost equal: his want for Even to turn and leave and the need for the fuse to be lit.

_Almost_. 

Isak stared as Even balanced on those options, wavering back and forth within the confines of a nanosecond, lower lip drawn between his teeth. Then his hands freed themselves from deep pockets and feet moved—towards Isak. Something overcame the invisible restraints because he was suddenly and rapidly inhaling. They were going to collide and he didn’t have a seat belt or airbag. Isak found the will to straighten, as Even closed the distance, but that was the last thing he had control over before they met. 

If Isak had considered himself greedy, Even matched him. With no interlude, searching hands sought Isak as if they had a permit to do so that would run out in minutes. Pushed and pulled, Isak considered the countless times and the numerous ways he’d fantasized about their first kiss. This was unlike any of those languid daydreams. One second they were on opposite sides of his sparse dorm room and the next Even’s lips and tongue were on him, in him, teeth grazing, cool fingertips hunting...

Chest easing, Isak recycled Even’s air. It made him high, his mind still trapped on that fairground ride but it was up in the clouds in a mist, freefalling as it swirled. The wall was as firm as Even’s body and Isak was caught between the two. Smoothness met where he dared touch. Lips were soft despite their enthusiasm, and the tongue overwhelming his own was sweet. Even’s scent flooded his lungs. When had the smell of shower gel beneath a day’s honest sweat become arousing? And Isak could feel him, just like the rest of his body, hard and firm where his hips pinned Isak to the wall. Even would find Isak the exact same way. 

His zip was undone, and his hoodie gone. Isak gasped the breaths of a drowning man as his t-shirt was pulled over his head. He hadn’t gotten halfway down Even’s buttons, fingers continuing to shake as they fumbled blindly. 

_Stupid goddamn fucking buttons…_

The earth shifted; they were on the bed. Even knelt over Isak, pulling his shirt off because it seemed neither of them had time for buttons. Isak closed his eyes. He didn’t need this to be any more vivid than it already was. If he was blind maybe it was a dream. If he couldn’t see then the evidence of how perfect this body was could be doubted when the memory fragments came back to assault him in the cold, loneliness of every night after. 

Even took his kisses, stole them until Isak was breathless. Their bodies pressed together, clammy with the heat they so easily generated. Fingers tugged at Isak’s jeans, pulling the button undone. Palms were sliding around his waist, under denim, reaching down to grab his ass. Gasps were all Isak could summon. His own hands hadn’t been granted a permit, no permission had been given to call out Even’s name, nor the right to put his nails down that long back, he didn’t have the freedom to run his tongue along Even’s neck and suck the skin into his mouth to mark—the way Isak yearned to. 

Paralysis set in along with the notion that repeated itself: this wasn’t right. Who would he hurt? How many people? Sonja? The kids? And there was something more his brain fought for, past everyone else in the scenario, to an individual Isak had notoriously abused and ignored: himself. How was this going to break _him_? He’d already fallen too deep to find the strength to say no. Even’s touch was covetous, his kisses possessive. Isak had never felt so desired yet he couldn’t reciprocate and not because he didn’t want to. But what could he salvage from this? What was his to keep? How long would it take for him to rebuild the damage left from their collision?

“Condoms?” 

Isak winced at the question. _Protection?_ What a joke. 

“There,” he said, voice hoarse and pointing to the bedside cabinet. Even reached over to where he’d been guided and Isak decided to do the only thing left to him. If he was on his knees—if Even fucked him from behind—he could bury his face in the pillow. His useless hands wouldn’t need to worry because they couldn’t reach Even anyway, and his mouth could substitute a warm throat for cotton. Then he could close his eyes and this could all be a dream—one of his dreams, just more vivid. That way Even couldn’t see his face and the contortions it would make as the emotions heightened. And if there were tears, no one would acknowledge their existence. 

What was the point of protection if he was already breaking? This game of tug of war had turned into a blood sport and Isak was wounded, bleeding out.

A hand landed on his hip as he was halfway done, rolling onto his stomach. “You want to... like that?” The abridged question ripped a hole in Isak’s badly patched composure. He didn’t think Even would think anything of it, he didn’t expect him to have the ability to think past his own pleasure—Isak wouldn’t blame him considering how long he’d been alone. And yet the tone said he did think something of it and that he was disappointed. Isak’s throat tightened. He couldn’t answer. Knees pulled up to his chest, he brought the pillow to his face. “Isak, what’s wrong?” Disappointment vanished, there was only concern. He _cared_. 

The hardness in Isak’s throat forced its way higher until a sob emerged. More were waiting, impatiently forcing themselves from his body in a race. He still shook but because of the tears that he couldn’t stop. They broke from him, there was no putting them back or holding them off. Grief sank its claws into his chest and claimed him, scored his lungs and crushed his ribs.

“Fuck,” Even muttered, his weight shifting back. The darkness lurking in Isak’s mind said that he would just keep moving, he’d put his shirt back on and leave the room—despite that being contrary to the Even he knew. But Isak wanted that. It would be easier to be abandoned rather than face up to whatever it was that moved him so powerfully.

Instead, Even moved back bringing the covers with him and pulling it up over Isak’s bare torso. His hand rubbed patterns on the outside where it pressed to Isak’s back—up and down, up and down—while Isak continued to weep. Time dragged out, stretched thin before a lull settled and his tears calmed. Isak realised Even was apologising, over and over, his hand still attentive but the rest of his body far enough away to give space. 

“It’s OK,” he cooed. “I’m sorry— _so_ sorry.” His words picked their way across a mountain trail, just one wrong step and Even would fall into an abyss of emotions.

Isak wanted to ask what exactly was OK and what did he have to be sorry about and what was it that made his voice rough. But when he opened his mouth defences were too high to overcome. “You don’t have to stay.”

The soothing patterns stopped. There was a pause. “Do you want me to go?”

Isak wanted to lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to start with dishonesty. Not when they’d been so frank with one another up until this point. It was rare, to be so easily honest. “No.” 

“This is my fault.” 

“ _No_ ,” Isak asserted, sharply. “No. It’s… nobody's fault.” It was true, as complex as the scenario was it was obvious no one had engineered it. His feelings weren’t Even’s responsibility.

The hand began to move again and, like he could read Isak’s mind, he asked, “Can you tell me how you feel?” 

Where did he start? There were too many emotions tangled and overflowing—a basket of yarn that a kitten had gotten into. “I don’t know.”

Even hummed. “Can I tell you how I feel? I probably should have done that before—” he sighed. Before this. “And I was planning to. I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say to you since before I texted the other day. I just—I have no idea how to communicate what I feel anymore. Everything sounds wrong. I’ve lost touch with how to talk about how I feel, after the kids, after…" he trailed off, but the unspoken word was Sonja. "But I’ll try. If you want?” Isak nodded, face still buried in the pillow. “Can I lay with you?”

Isak mumbled a _yes_. The bed being single meant that they were going to be close. And that’s how they ended up; Even lay facing Isak’s back but with a margin of a few centimetres between them. The hair on Isak's skin rose knowing he was just there, wanting to connect with him. Even stayed on the other side of the duvet, keeping the safe distance between them. Isak pulled the pillow down letting cool air kiss his warmed, wet cheeks as he stared at the white-painted bricks, ears keen for what Even had to say. 

“I don’t want you to think this is easy for me, what we’re doing—we _were_ doing. I haven’t been like this in…” he paused, letting out a rueful laugh, it stirred the hair at Isak’s neck. “Honestly, I’ve never been like this before, Isak. I feel like a teenager again. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Shit, I just asked for condoms after we kissed for two seconds.” Even shook his head, Isak felt the motion. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he repeated with a frustrated sigh. 

Isak pushed a palm firmly against his stomach, trying in vain to keep it from flipping like a pancake. He wanted that to be true, this being new for Even, because it was new for him, too. But something other than relief was verbalised, picking at Even’s words with scrutiny. “ _Easy_?”

Even hummed again, the vibrations coaxed goosebumps. “What I mean is, I haven’t had flings or affairs, I’ve never looked for it. This _isn’t_ rebound. I just hate not being near you. I didn’t want coffee, but that didn’t mean I was just here for one thing. Apparently, I have no fucking chill,” he grunted, exasperated with himself, then took a deep breath before going on. Isak fought the changing tide, it pulled and urged him to turn. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about you. I imagine… a lot _—all the time_ —and I don’t know where to start. It was too fast, I’m sorry.” With the sincerity of the words, Isak relented, turning to Even. A gentle smile was waiting for him and his stomach was a pancake midair again. 

Now it was Isak’s turn, to be honest, but not before one last question. “You don’t just want a fling?” 

At first, Even let out a soft disbelieving sigh, but his eyes grew solemn as he shook his head in refusal. Reaching towards Isak’s face, one finger stroked his cheek. The contact was cool comfort. “No. Of course I don’t. I just want _you_ —in every way.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Isak licked his lips. “It’s not that this is too fast. I—when I’m around you it’s… I can hardly breathe. But I don’t want it to be easier because I feel _alive._ I’ve never felt so alive.” Even’s smile deepened, his mouth opened with the intent to speak but Isak wasn’t done yet. It was important he got it all out. “It feels so big I’m fucking scared, either that you don’t feel the same and—” Isak cut off, unwilling to admit to the fact it would shatter him. “Or we feel the same and we hurt people. I mean, what can we have? Do we have to sneak around? I just—” He’d lost his friends before, he’d forever altered his relationship with his mum, he’d gotten used to being self-sufficient and alone—that way he wouldn’t hurt anyone, including himself. Now he didn’t want to be alone, yet he couldn’t stomach half measures or dishonesty. The relief at knowing Even wanted more than one night was overwhelmed by the other issues they faced. “I’m scared.”

Even looked thoughtful, the answers weren’t easy. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispered. 

“People don’t usually intend to hurt people,” Isak replied. But the sentiment weakened him, his throat tightening again. 

“I know. But I promise that I’ll be honest, and communicate with you—no matter what’s going on.” Isak tipped his chin down, a tear slipped from his eyelashes, melting into the pillow. Even hesitated before continuing in a deep, grave tone. “And I’m not sure how we will hurt people just… _loving_ each other.”

The words forced Isak’s eyes shut tight, another tear escaping. " _Loving each other,_ " he repeated, lips numb. Another lull settled as they absorbed what was being said and the secrets aired: _Love._

More than a fling was one thing, love another. He hadn't dared believe Even would view him seriously, being a student and knowing everything about his past. Isak hid from the dreams that persisted where Even wanted more than to explore the magnetism that was always between them. But now he was saying very clearly that this was _a lot_ more. Had Even had the same worries? Had he thought that the kids would put Isak off anything serious? There was a lot to talk over. Isak wanted relief, to let Even roll over him and do whatever he wanted but it still wasn't that simple. "Sonja," he whispered. "She won't be happy about it." 

Despite his temporary blindness, he could feel Even picking the right words. No matter what had happened, the things Isak had seen and what had been confided, Even had never said a cross word about her. It was honourable. "She doesn't have a leg to stand on, Isak," he said softly.

That was a simple fact, it didn't mean she would be easy about anything. In fact, Isak would bet the complete opposite. "She'll make life difficult." It was an understatement. “She’ll think—” he sighed in frustration at what he needed to say, what had been obvious for a while now. “She’ll feel betrayed—anyone would. I was in her house, around her kids. I can’t think she would feel anything but hate for me.” And he wouldn’t blame her. That was a very brief summary of all the ways he assumed Sonja would despise him for this. 

Daring to look, Isak found Even sombre. It must be hard to acknowledge—knowing everything that Sonja had been doing and having kept the peace for the sake of the kids—that he would receive anything less than civility. But their situation was different from Sonja having an affair with her boss and, until tonight, keeping it outside of the home. This was _at_ home. “That’s not fair. That was never your intent—this _wasn’t_ planned.” There was already defence in Even’s voice, imagining the argument that would materialise if this came out. It warmed Isak to feel that defence on his behalf, but it didn’t bring hope. His eyes were shining with the realisation of the truth in Isak’s words. They widened in desperation.

Here the two of them lay, thinking of themselves last for so long only to find something they wanted that seemed impossible. It was worse for Even. How many years had he put up with being not only last in his family, but also accepting what Sonja was doing? As well as picking up after everyone, making sure the household kept running, there when someone needed anything at all. This really wasn’t fair.

Reading Isak’s mind once more, Even uttered a quiet confession. “I just want to be happy, too.” He looked brittle, ready to break—mirroring Isak completely. His eyes closed, shutting down on emotions and needs that Even had denied himself for so long before daring to hope. Before Isak knew what he was doing, his arms were around Even, rubbing the same soothing patterns to his back that graced Isak minutes before. Fingers clung to him as tears came. This wasn’t what he’d imagined would happen tonight, when they’d left the house. Was he envisioning the worst? Was there a way this could work out? Maybe his gut instinct was wrong about Sonja. Isak could deny his own deepest desires but he couldn’t allow Even to forsake his. If anyone on this planet deserved happiness it was him. 

“What do we do?” he asked quietly, bracing his chin to stop himself from weeping. Even’s nose was in his neck as he cried in a heartbreakingly still and silent way. Isak breathed in, trying to keep Even’s scent captive in his lungs. He wanted to keep hold of something, but the fear that this was all sand slipping through his fingers was too real. 

“I don’t know,” came the hoarse reply, reverberating against Isak’s chest.

“Can you come in?” Even frowning up at him, eyes red-rimmed. Isak tugged at the duvet still separating them. He nodded, shifting until the covers had been pulled from under him, then Isak cocooned them, sighing as Even’s body pulled close to his. His hands weren’t paralysed anymore, they were craving the feel of this human that was honestly his to love but that he may have only for a short time. Minutes maybe. He wanted to soothe Even’s pain and remember as much of his form as they could: count his ribs, follow the gentle waves his spine made, feel his pulse. Even had become a thread that darned Isak’s cracks and that thread had pulled tighter over time, drawing parts of Isak together that had been severed for years—tending wounds. It gave him a warm peace, a healing hurt, and something that was likely to be ripped away. 

“Maybe we can pretend until I have a new place,” Even muttered. “After some time it can work.” 

“ _Pretend_ ,” Isak repeated. Pretending wasn’t something that would feel good. But what other options did they have? “Keep our distance until then?”

Even chewed his lip and then nodded. “I guess if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t anything close to what Isak wanted, but he wouldn’t creep around. Not with the stakes so high. The next sentence was harder to admit. “I’ll have to quit at some point.”

Isak watched as Even processed that. It sounded a lot crueller than what it actually implied. If they were going to be together, at some point, Even couldn’t employ him. Isak would be there for the kids because that’s what a relationship with Even would entail. His mind now dared to imagine what that future might look like without asking permission. If they played this right, if they gave enough time, enough distance, maybe this could work.

Finally, Even nodded. “So, we wait.” Isak nodded in return. A deep breath was drawn before Even asked his next question. “Should I go then?”

Swallowing, Isak struggled to find an answer, all the while his arms screamed no as they clung to Even. “Does it make me a monster if I want you to stay—just for a while?” 

Even smiled kindly in that way so familiar to Isak. "You could never be a monster," his words were just as tender before he shook his head. “But it will make things harder.”

“It’s already gonna be hard.” There was no endpoint to this, no date that he could work towards. When would they be like this again? Weeks? Months? _Years_? What if they missed their chance and something changed—this would always be a dream. There were no guarantees in their plan, the only security Isak had was Even’s body against his own right now, in this moment. 

Noses almost touching, Even studied his face. “I’m so weak for you, but I can’t stand the thought of leaving you if we—” he broke off, eyes shutting on another tear. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said once more. 

Isak shook his head. “I promise I won’t be hurt—when you go.” It was a lie, but maybe he could be stronger than he thought. Maybe he would be able to focus on the positives and ignore the emptiness that would lay next to him after. And Even read that, too. Isak knew he would hurt just as much. They were lying to themselves, but it was a pay off Isak was willing to make. 

There was no right or wrong anymore. 

Instead of giving an answer, Even propped himself on one elbow, peering down at Isak. Isak watched, unsure if this was a move to leave. He opened his mouth to ask but the question evaporated as Even reached for his face, the tip of one index finger softly tracing an eyebrow and then the other. The touch was so light yet the trails it made burnt sweetly. The next feature traced was his nose. Even’s mouth quirking into a content smile when he reached the tip, as absorbed simply touching Isak's face as Isak was enthralled with the adoring contact. 

When the exploration reached his mouth, Isak’s lungs again refused to work. _This_ outshone his daydreams, better than them all combined. They loved each other—it had a name now, what Isak felt. Even’s heartbeat thrummed against his body, echoing that notion. They were close, intimate this time. Isak’s hands were free to touch. He’d been aching for so long, relief was close enough to taste. Isak wanted them to be this way—just a little while, and so did Even. The quiet nourished—now the truths had been told—instead of tormenting. As temporary as it might be, contentment was a warm blanket laying over them both.

Even’s eyes met his, an unspoken question passed between them. Isak’s fingers reached the hair at his nape. He nodded. One night. They could have _one_ night. 

His palm half followed-half guided, lips seeking lips, as movements became deliberate. Even’s mouth found his: a light kiss, one deep breath, then more. They were fluid now, their kisses began to from one to the next, seamless and perfectly formed. Even’s tongue eased a slow dance alongside Isak’s: molten, smooth, and fulfilling. 

Nothing was too heavy, the relief was not only palpable it was honest. For this moment, at least, they had each other. For this moment, at least, there was only Isak and Even. For this moment, at least, they could love each other. No room left for anyone else within the white brick walls, every spare thought Isak had centred on the man above him, from the feel of his silken hair down to consideration over trousers and how easy they might slip over Even’s hips without undoing them. This was how they could be—how they _would_ be.

Warm solace softened them, the desperate scrabble forgotten as a languid discovery took its place, bubbles of laughter escaping to the surface when they needed air, or when Even’s fingers stroked over Isak’s ribs. 

“Are you ticklish?” 

“I wasn’t,” Isak replied. It was true, he hadn’t been but Even’s fingers were feathers, they wrote promises into his flesh. And it wasn’t just his fingers, Isak was about to discover. Even’s lips began to move down his throat. Warm breath and careful kisses forced Isak’s euphoria free under the guise of a giggle. “ _Fuck.”_ His giddiness quickly buckled to anticipated desire. Even could touch him anywhere, kiss him anywhere, do what he wanted. Those thoughts didn’t seem so disastrous anymore. 

If he couldn’t have this, what was the point of surviving?

Even looked down on him. “Just for me then?” It was said in half-jest, one corner of his mouth curling up in a lopsided smile. But beyond that, in that unique way they understood each other, Isak could see the need for this to be special—different from anything and everything else. 

Recounting their conversation, Isak realised that, apart from a few words once he’d regained his composure, he'd been the voice of reason and Even the confessor. After everything he'd been through and what Isak had picked up on in his mannerisms, Even would need reassurance—a lot of it. That thought was both appallingly sad and burdenless. Isak was more than willing to make sure he felt cherished at any chance given. How he would stop from doing that while they were keeping their distance, he’d have to figure out. 

Reaching out, Isak’s fingers brushed a strand of hair back from Even’s forehead, pushing it behind an ear. He let his fingertips dance along his eyebrow, down his temple, then along his jaw, intrigued at the way his touch made Even slack-jawed—as he'd been. And when Isak’s palm cupped his cheek, Even leant into the warmth of his hand. His breathing deeper, feeling the answer before Isak said. 

“Just for you.” He paused, biting his lower lip as Even exhaled heavily, the tension he didn’t realise he held dissipating. “Everything,” he added, steadying his voice. This was hard for him, being vulnerable to someone again. But Even wasn’t just someone—he was everything. “All of me, for you— _just_ you.” But it needed to be said in more than words. 

Using the pause to his advantage, while Even was temporarily off-balance, Isak rolled him—the bed so compact they ended up flush with the wall. But Isak’s concerned focused on the unsettling fact that they hadn’t done nearly enough kissing. Without hesitation, his mouth found Even’s, who’d snorted a laugh at being caught beneath Isak. The mirth quickly stilled as Isak moved over him. 

New things kept being born in Isak’s world. Never before had intimacy felt anything more than fumbles and quickness; racing towards a finish line where awkwardness waited for his prize. There’d always been music and darkness, to fill the ignored void and fuel the act. Yet here he was, the room brighter than most with its cheap bulbs and white walls, and the only soundtrack being the noises they made—breaths and moans alike. Yet he was fulfilled, there wasn’t anything he wanted to overlook or avoid, all he needed was in here, in this room and he wasn’t willing to be distracted. 

Streams of warmth poured down his back, Even’s fingers flowing over his body before retracing their steps to rest at his neck, the tips pushing into his hair, anchoring to him. It felt solid now—stable; the grey-scale world was making sense, luscious colour poured in with every shared molecule of air that passed from Even to Isak and from Isak back to Even.

This couldn’t be a fluke or mistake—the sentiment rang through Isak’s mind as his hands intensified their search and his mouth claimed more of Even: cheeks, jaw, neck, collar bone… 

“Baby, you don’t have to—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Isak cut Even off, pausing just enough to part with his body and for the reprimand to be made. His fingers were teasing the waistband of Even’s trousers. 

Even grunted—half laugh, half groan. “It’s just I don’t expect—”

Isak wouldn’t find out what he didn’t expect because his lips closed over Even’s left nipple— whatever he wanted to say couldn’t have been important. But Isak got it, understood what his reservations were—concerned that Isak might just be doing this out of obligation. A quick pinch of anger irritated him before re-focussing on how to heal this and how to tend Even’s wounds. 

“You don’t think this is what I dream about?” he asked peering up into a gaze so deep and azure chills cascaded over Isak. His lips continued with their journey, seeking out the nipple that should be as hard as its twin. Even had no response to that, his stupor overshadowing the need to talk. Isak took his time to caress with his tongue, relishing the way Even reacted—pulse, breath, and body—before he pondered what he was going to say and do next. Straddling Even, he sat upright, his fingers began to slowly and purposefully unfasten the button that was just beneath Even’s navel. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he added earnestly. 

Even’s hands rested on Isak’s knees, out of reach from the rest of him as they were, but they gripped firmly, thumbs rubbing patterns over denim. Was he trying to soothe Isak or himself? His head shook once. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

Isak grinned. “Good, cos I don’t want to—not now that the man of my dreams is here, in my bed, about to be bareass naked…” he trailed off, deft fingers convincing the zipper to slide along its tracks. If they only had one night Isak wasn’t about to hold back.

Air staggered from Even’s lungs. “The man of your dreams?” he murmured, dazed by Isak’s confidence—and _that_ only encouraged conviction. 

“You heard me.” Shifting his weight to his knees, Isak tugged Even’s trousers down over his hips, taking his boxers, too. Despite the way he gasped and his fingers gripped harder, Even lifted, allowing himself to be stripped. Clothes tossed to the floor, Isak was on him immediately, his mouth resuming its attentive job with the warmth of Even’s arms surrounding him.

The contentment that came as his journey reached Even’s abdomen was dizzying. The touches that caressed his neck and shoulders were encouraging—never impatient, and the sounds that came from Even’s mouth gave Isak pleasure that physical touch had never kindled before. And then his name was whined, as Isak’s lips reached skin—smooth and firm. There was no shame in the moan he hummed as Even began to repeat his name, breathlessly in want.

As out of practise as Isak might be, his motions came naturally. His tongue drew a slow line over Even’s cock, his palm moving to caress the base as his lips reached the tip, tasting before enveloping. The delirious responses fed Isak, compelled his passion to take every moment and unfold it, expand it, multiply it. Isak wanted Even to feel his love through his movements, how careful and patient it would be, in the same way that his mouth worshipped now. 

It was instinctual to rock with the motion of Even’s body, rolling beneath him. Fingertips grasped and relented with every wave—never insistently, simply trying to hold on to sanity as they heaved on the bed. His name continued to swirl in Even’s mouth, loud and wild, dispersed between cuss words that had never sounded sexy before tonight. Those sounds soon become pleas, begged between ragged gasps when Isak’s lips began to meet his knuckles, Even’s cock filling his mouth completely. 

“Isak—fuck—I’m—” Isak glanced up to find Even propped on an elbow, one hand still in Isak’s hair as his thumb ran over cheek and jaw tenderly. His face was flushed, trying desperately to hold euphoria at bay. His head shook minimally. “I’m not gonna—” 

He would have laughed if it had been possible. Instead, as a reply, his free hand moved up over Even’s chest, firmly insisting that he relax. Even’s body gave in with no fight, slumping back onto the bed, both hands in Isak’s hair. It took little more, that freehand gliding down, cupping Even’s balls, knuckles moving gently over the heated skin of his perineum. It would have gone further, Isak wanted to work Even from the inside—but that would have to wait. There would _have_ to be a next time… 

Taste intensified, warmth spilt over his tongue just like the moans that poured from Even. His body shuddered before tensing, curving to bring himself closer to Isak in any way that he could. Isak didn’t relent until Even was soft, completely spent and whimpering. Only then did he make the short journey to kisses, over Even’s heaving torso. Once his mouth was on Even’s, he was embraced and, orgasm aside, enthusiastically brought back down to the mattress. Even surrounded him, mouth and hands making up for the moments they were useless.

“Was that OK?” he asked, out of breath from Even’s relentlessness. He was at Isak’s neck, butterflies swarming once more at the sensation.

The snort of laughter skittered over Isak’s pebbled skin. “Shut up.” 

“What?” Isak asked coyly, unable to hide a smirk. 

“Like you can’t tell. I didn’t even last two minutes.” He was peering down, cheek resting on his palm as Isak played with the hair at his nape. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing—or like _I’d_ do any better.”

Even’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “That would make me feel a whole lot better,” he mused, fingers making trails down Isak’s stomach. Biting his lip, Isak gazed back up, he couldn’t look anywhere else. Those trails scored expectant pleasure into his skin. It was hard to find anything to say, not that they needed words. Even reached the button on his jeans, already open from the furious mess they’d made earlier. “Can I?” 

Isak was nodding before Even was done asking. “ _Yes_ ,” he emphasized, the word urgent. His hands weren’t quite as delicate as Even’s had been as they commanded him closer, needing his mouth. The muscles in his gut tensed as Even loosened his jeans with one hand before his palm flattened against Isak’s abdomen. 

Moaning already, Isak’s lips broke from Even’s as he gasped in anticipation. It was reassuring to feel Even panting, too—the high experienced by both at the pleasure stoked in the other. And his hand spanned so much of Isak at once, behind it was an unyielding strength as he moved beneath clothing, pushing them down easily. With only a small amount of effort from Isak, they were both naked. Even’s palm moved carefully over his hip, along the inside of his thigh, skirting his groin—learning Isak’s body just as Isak had tried to do. Care and patience were obvious.

Tremors pulsed through him before Even had done anything more than massage the innocent flesh he could reach. With one last slow and purposeful sweep over his abdomen, Even took Isak’s cock in his hand. All Isak could do was cling to Even, the only thing he could say was _baby_. He moaned it over and over against Even’s mouth, pressing the words to his sweat-dampened throat, whispered it in his ear, as Even’s palm moved up and down his shaft lazily.

The rocking motion returned, Isak becoming desirous in chasing the sensation of Even’s palm over him—again and again. Even’s body moved with him, unable to resist the need to stir, to feel friction. And there was nothing to be embarrassed by with how quickly he’d come when his rate of recovery was factored in. The feel of Even hard against his hip, while his tongue teased Isak’s nipple, pushed a louder groan from his throat. And when those kisses reached his cock, the heat of Even’s mouth taking him eagerly with a moan, Isak’s head dropped back against the pillow, his chest opening to let a wail free. His fingers twisted in the sheets for a heartbeat before he released the cotton, intent on reaching Even’s body. Isak pawed at neck and hair, unsure whether he wanted to urge Even on or slow him down. The quandary dispersed quickly as Even moved decisively, the way Isak had planned to. Long fingers running wet paths down his perineum and resolutely explored the most sensitive part of Isak’s body. Firm patterns massaged against him caused his breathing to stutter out in stops and starts. How did he let Even know this was OK without the use of words? Isak couldn’t remember his own name let alone talk.

But Even read him: his lax muscles, his grip, his desperate breathes and needy moans. One fingertip teased precisely before pushing inside—careful and purposefully—just as Isak’s cock met the back of Even’s throat. It was too much, Isak didn’t want to come now, he wanted to last. Now he understood Even’s desperation. It was also unjust because Isak hadn’t managed to get to this point when he was pleasuring Even. Never before had something seemingly unfair been so welcome.

Isak barely managed to catch his breath and adjust to the pleasure that Even so easily elicited before a second finger was inside of him—probing, curling. Even was everywhere and Isak was about to lose his goddamn mind. His thighs trembled with every precise and indulgent movement Even made, it was overwhelming—it was too much and he wanted more.

“Baby, stop,” he whimpered pathetically. 

Just like that, everything ceased. “Are you OK? Was that too much?” Even asked urgently moving up over Isak’s body, coming to rest on him, between his thighs. But Isak didn’t answer except to pull Even to his mouth while his other fumbled at the drawer in his bedside table.

How did he say that it was too much and not enough? Shaking his head, Isak tried to put together a sentence. “I just need you,” he whispered, “all of you.” 

Even groaned against his lips. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Fingers closing around a tube, Isak brought it to his chest. Pushing the lid off with his thumb and pumping lube into his palm, something made him hesitate. “Do you? Want to do this?”

Even hummed a yes. “I’ve been dreaming about this for…” he trailed off with a sigh. Isak didn't know how long he’d been fantasising over this either. It seemed like forever. “I just don’t wanna—”

Isak cut him off with a kiss. Even had already said what he didn't want to do earlier. “You won’t," he reassured before realising they were forgetting something Even had intended to do, something they’d already bypassed. “I’m clean—by the way,” he added with a nervous laugh. It should have been jarring, yet it was the opposite; just another truth easily acknowledged. 

“Me too," the words were served with the blissful smile that never failed to give Isak confidence.

Hand drifting between them, Isak felt out Even’s cock, the lube allowing his hand to run smoothly over him. Somehow—between their kisses and Isak’s stroking and the gentle thrusts they’d both adopted—Even found the tube left beside Isak. He was searching, too, knees at either side of Isak’s hips, returning to the work he'd left off at Isak's command. This time he massaged fluid over sense-heightened skin before working his way inside, slow pulses in sync with Isak's strokes. 

The moment found an edge; slow and purposeful swiftly became two bodies heaving, seeking more and hungry for each other. That edge was keen and irresistible. Isak’s free hand reached for Even’s waist, urging him closer. “Even, I need you.” 

There was no reply past a groan, deep from his chest. Even followed where he was guided. Bodies close, foreheads pushed together, the firmness of Even’s cock pushed against him, Isak’s hips tilted, and—with only minimal fumbling and a touch of low laughter—he felt gentle force and Even was inside of him. 

Filling his lungs, Isak dropped his head back, lips opening to allow a deep groan free. His fingers dug into Even’s back. His memories of intimacy before this were flashbacks of little say-so while someone took, an expectation that Isak would adapt—or not, it wasn’t necessary for them. This wasn’t anything like that. The ache he recognised, but now it was sweet and tantalising. Even moved in time to Isak’s breaths, draw deep and evenly. It felt like something they were doing together, a shared experience they were both driving. 

Even’s mouth was at his neck, kissing, whispering, assuring. “Are you OK?” he murmured, voice deep and gravelly.

Isak moaned again. How was he so perfect? And how did he not know? “Good,” he replied absentmindedly. He didn’t have the capability to give an answer past that. He knew that the reply didn’t actually make sense either, but that was all he had. 

There was a huff, pleasure or amusement Isak wasn’t sure which, but it tickled his neck. “Good? _You’re_ good? Or _it’s_ good? Or—” His impossible ability to talk crumbled as he cut off with a groan. Isak had wrapped his legs around his back, ankles linked together, encouraging the shallow slow thrusts. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed. 

Why was he trying to have a conversation right now? There would be time, after this and before whatever they tried next. He wanted to laugh at his own eager thoughts but when he opened his mouth something close to petulance came out. “ _Shut u—”_ The words were rushed but there was no momentum to conclude the sentiment as Even edged further. Isak’s hands were full of hair. Even was moving so slow, so methodically it was maddening _._ “Baby,” he gasped, “just don’t stop.” It was a harrassed plea, and the urgent words were barely free before Even was kissing him into the pillow. He surrendered his mouth, letting Even take control as he shifted to his elbow, one hand gripping Isak’s thigh. Fingers curved around the muscle as he moved again, decisively firm this time. 

Isak’s hands flew from Even’s hair, to his arms, to his shoulders—pawing at whatever they could find and trying to find the best place to steady himself. When Even pushed again until his body pressed to Isak, the only thing Isak was capable of was choking on his desirous whimpers. 

Even shifted to sit upright, and Isak took the opportunity to focus on catching his breath. Every inch of Even was inside of him, the pressure that radiated from that feeling of fullness made Isak throb. His thighs were trembling again, anticipating the release that would come— that he needed. And the way Even watched him, eyes large and looking intoxicated on the sensations they were experiencing didn’t help. Isak let his gaze wander lower, as Even knelt, to where their bodies joined. Instinctively his eyes rolled back in his head. 

“You feel so good,” Even said, voice pained. His palms swept up Isak’s thighs, stopping at the joint of his knees and there his grip tightened. Isak’s hips were angled, tilted as Even pulled away before thrusting again, pushing hard against Isak’s body. 

Arching beneath the pleasure, Isak became intelligibly mute. There were no imagined replies in his mind, just clear, white, heat. The only ability Isak retained was to make noises that sounded as though he might be trying to say _Even_. They were dispersed between breaths and moans—there would be no mistaking that he enjoyed this. If his mumbled nonsense wasn’t enough, his cock heavy on his stomach, leaking enthusiastically with each thrust, would be.

It was he who now dug nails into Even’s knees—the only reachable part while Even towered over him. What was he clinging to? If they’d embarked on an unspoken competition over could last, he’d won it already. But it wasn’t about that. It was retaining this, holding on to these moments, seeing every detail, every expression, every sound. Isak never wanted this to fade from his vision, the afterimage printed firmly onto the backs of his eyelids. The tiny voice in his mind that shouted this was not only their first time but maybe their last time was muted. That fear he could unpack on his own.

But he couldn’t hide the small thread of discontent plucked, no matter how minuscule—not from Even. Lowering himself down, Even still rolled against him but slower. His gaze searched Isak’s face, unable to hide his concern but he wouldn’t ask again, not verbally after Isak had shushed his reassurance-seeking question before. But he asked all the same, silently the way they’d communicate before and Isak hoped they always would. 

To answer, Isak grasped the hair at his neck—quickly becoming the place his right hand felt at home—and brought their mouths together. Kissing instead of crying, or laughing, or talking. Kissing while they could. As he shook, moaning into Even’s mouth, his free hand had a mind of its own, travelling down Even’s back until it reached his ass. His fingers sunk into the soft muscle as firmly as Isak could, pulling Even against him insistently. 

Even replied to the moans, cussing back against Isak’s lips. “You— _fuck—_ ” Hot air was exhaled in a rush. “I want you to come, baby. _Need_ _you_ to,” he managed, words chasing each other in desperation to be free, to make it come true. Head falling to rest in Isak’s neck, Even’s hand pushed between them, slipping easily over the sweat that lined their stomachs. Isak’s hold tightened on skin and hair both when Even’s palm found his cock, brushing over the head and causing Isak to jolt and grunt from sensitivity. Then he was being stroked, carefully and attentively, the movement of Even’s hand as lazy and full as his thrusts. Where Even’s cock provoked tension, making Isak’s climax mass within, his hand guided the way for relief. 

Isak was powerless—it felt fucking divine. 

A whimper quickly gave into a full sob before Isak’s throat ached with the noises pushed from his chest as he came. Some of the sounds weren’t his, they came from Even, movements stuttering before he shuddered to a stop, hand weak as its stroking subsided with Isak’s orgasm claimed.

The only move Even made to get some distance between them was to rock his hips back, cock slipping free from Isak’s body. Even sprawled over his chest, nestled between his thighs. Isak held onto him, despite his muscles feeling like water. He wouldn’t let go. 

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_.” It was the first words said into the silence, Even’s voice haggard like Isak expected his own to be. 

Isak’s first conscious reaction was to smile until his cheeks hurt. Huffing a weak laugh, his fingers began to dance up Even’s back. “Why are you like this?”

Even shifted slowly so could frown down on Isak. “Like what?”

“Fucking perfect.” 

Face already flushed, Even’s cheeks deepened by several shades. He shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips uncontrollably. “Says you,” he said finally, a way to accept the praise and reflect it back. "And I'm not sure if coming twice in—what was that? Fifteen minutes? I'm not sure if _that's_ perfect." 

Isak was smug, and he knew it showed. "I don't know." His tone said he flat out disagreed. "That depends on your perspective." 

"What's your perspective?" 

Humming, Isak let his gaze wander over Even's face to make his point. "Fucking perfect," he repeated. Even snorted, shaking his head again but at a loss for words. "You said you feel like a teenager and I guess in more ways than just emotions." Isak offered. It was no big deal to him, in fact, it might be the biggest compliment ever paid his way.

"I'm not sure my heart can keep up with a boner a minute. You're _too_ hot, Isak." 

Tipping his chin up, Isak couldn't hide his grin. "I'll look after you—heart and boners." But the confident delight strayed into sobriety. Isak knew it was going to be impossible to survive once Even left—no kisses, affirmation, or affection. And when would he leave? Now? How was Isak going to say goodbye and keep his promise? 

"I think we were loud," Even mused, smoothing down Isak's hair and taking a deliberate turn away from the seriousness and questions he no doubt felt welling inside of Isak.

"It's Friday night," Isak shrugged, "I'd be surprised if anyone's here apart from us. And they'll make up for it in a couple of hours." He could count on it, a flood of students returning after kick-out time, absolutely wasted and intent on after-partying. 

Even pursed his lips in thought. "Sounds like you need company then—if they're gonna keep you up." 

Twinning his arms around Even's neck, Isak's contentment returned, chasing apprehension and fear back into the shadows. "I think so." 

Now it was Even that wore a smirk. Whatever thoughts he entertained Isak could guess with confidence that they weren't altogether _pure_. "You wanna take a shower together?" 

* * *


	18. In Sickness and In Health

###  In Sickness and In Health

"I feel shit." It was the first thing boldly stated into the stagnant pause they’d wandered into. It had to be addressed. 

A snot soaked tissue was expertly tossed at the bin on the other end of the sofa, bouncing once from the lip before disappearing inside. As well as the bug Bo had, she'd also managed to pick up a cold and her nose wouldn't stop running.  _ Shit  _ was a fucking understatement and completely unrelated to her low health. Turning over, Sonja pressed her ear to the phone as it lay on the pillow and tugged the duvet up to her neck. It was possible that she’d never been this ill before—or if she had then it was outside her scope of memory. 

" _ I know—you’re ill _ ." 

"No,” she huffed impatiently. He knew what she meant. “Not physically. About all of this—everything, and not just us. I heard from Isak how it’d gone at the studio, with that big deal. They're doing well— _ really _ well. I don't even remember to look pleased for them because I never fucking ask. I haven’t been to the fucking lounge since it opened." Everything had become routine, they were ships passing in the night, only handing over the vitals of their environment before they were gone again. Friday night had heightened Sonja’s perception of herself and how she operated here. The bare minimum wasn’t an accurate term for what she contributed outside of finances. 

" _ You've been busy lately. Don't give yourself a hard time _ ." 

Her jaw firmed. "He's the father of my kids. I need to stop…" she trailed off, not sure what exact actions needed to end. Things were so convoluted and obtuse. She'd stopped referring to Even as her husband. How long had that been a thing for? Not that she had a right to. "I'm not present here. Does that make sense?" There was a hum of understanding in reply. "I'm so busy I don't know where I've been half the time.” It wasn’t an excuse and she would never dream use it for pity from Even, but it  _ was  _ true. Sometimes she would find herself so disorientated by where she was and what she was doing her head shook with tremors, and anxiety followed like a tidal wave. 

" _ Do you want to cut down your hours? Work from home? You know it's not hard to organise if that’s what you want." _

It was something already considered. Chewing her lip, Sonja tried to word her apprehension so it didn't make her out as a monster, but perhaps there was no getting away from that fact. "There's something firm in missing them—the kids. I know that  _ that's  _ how I feel and that it's positive—in a way. To miss them is to know you love them and you cherish the time spent with them. I'm scared that if I'm here more then I'll feel—," she broke off, closing her eyes. Anger made its presence known in her tone and it was all self-directed. "Do you know what it's like to be resentful of a tiny baby—that is  _ your  _ child—simply for being alive and needing to be fed and changed and clothed and to need you? Because you're their mum and you're supposed to love them? I don't want those feelings again." The words were a tumble. How did you explain the fear of experiencing only bitterness when you looked at your child? The love that everyone said was so natural and easy to come by nowhere to be found? What words did you pick so the person didn’t frown at you, the light they saw you in changing forever? Now you’re defunct; a mother who can’t love; a parent without compassion; a monster. 

_ "Just keep aware of those feelings, if they resurface then we can reassess. _ " And that was it, there was a solution, Sonja knew it. It did nothing to lessen the fear. " _ They won't be young forever. Where's the harm in trying? _ " 

"I guess," she said. 

There was another pause. The topic was about to change.  _ "So when do you think you'll talk?"  _

She sighed. "I don't know." 

" _ You have to face him."  _

"I got comfortable. I did things that aren't right. There are no excuses, or talking my way out of it." Not that she wanted that either, forgiveness didn’t seem right or deserved.

" _ We did things. It's dumb luck the one time I drop you off he was there—watching. _ " 

"I know. But he's angry— _ rightfully _ angry. I haven't seen him like that in—ever. Never." Firming her chin, Sonja tried to hold back the tears. 

Even was nothing but calm, ever since Chris arrived. If the gates of Hell opened—and at times it felt like they had—in their living room, she would count on him to be cool and collected and save their asses. He  _ deserved  _ more than this. But how could you tell someone, who only had good intentions, that they weren't the right person to  _ fix _ you? That something had broken way before you’d snapped? They should have been made for each other if life played fair, and she would feel comfortable in his calm. Yet all it did was inflict guilt on her. Every time they were close, eye to eye, she wondered about the dark thoughts he'd held for her. What did he think she was capable of? Years had passed since she’d convinced herself he wanted to see something other than what she was—to be with someone else. And she wouldn't hold it against him. 

None of that justified how she’d come to this point. How had the norm become neck deep lies, second lives, and deception? Selfishness? Probably. Desire to feel whole with someone and not the weakest link? Most likely. Lust? Definitely. Cowardice? Shame? Unarguably. None of the reasons she offered herself were of value, especially if she'd ruined the friendship she could have kept with Even. Had it been worth it? No. But here they were… 

_ "I wish I could help someway. I wish there was a way to explain— _

"There's not." Truthfulness would be absolutely gratuitous. Nothing would be acceptable, it would all be done in a way to soothe her hurt. She wasn’t going to make it about her. "I'm gonna take the kids to my parents for a week." 

He was quiet for a moment, surprised if she guessed right. " _ If you think that’s for the best." _

"I do." 

" _ Are we OK?"  _

Sonja sighed. Was that the priority? It didn't feel like it. To say she didn't care wasn’t accurate, yet assuring him didn’t rate high on her list of concerns—despite loving him. Christina was already acting out from a few nights away from her Dad. "We'll be OK, but I need to make sure the kids are good first. And for that, I need to make  _ this  _ better." Although how that would be configured was yet to become clear. 

The thought of having her own space had been the dream; her and Even living separately with no guilt filling the gap and solidifying between them. Yet here she sat feeling the silence louder than it had ever been in her life. She felt like a castaway, unstable here without Even to hold everything together. But there would be no sympathy for her. She didn't expect it. 

"I need to be a better mum." He sighed. These were the conversations she used to have with Even, despairing in why she just didn't work properly. And he would try and reassure that she was fine and things would be OK, despite the fact she knew they were untruths. She didn't want to have those same conversations with Mark. "I don't want you to say anything to make me feel better. I just want to make constructive changes.  _ This  _ was unsustainable, and now we need a new way." Three years too late.

_ "So you'll change your hours? Work from home?" _

She hummed a yes. That would be a constructive change. "I'll start sorting things out when I get back. I just need a week away." What would Even do alone? For the first time in years, she felt the need to talk to him, find out what his plans were, what he was thinking. But she couldn't just pick up the line of conversation like that. Too much scorched ground lay between them.

" _ That sounds like a good plan." _

It was as good as it was going to get right now. "I'll ask if Isak wants to stay here while we're gone. I think he has exams and it'll be good to have someone in the house." She doubted Even would come back, it was outside of his nature to be somewhere he didn’t feel comfortable. She’d managed to sully the family home for him. Hopefully, that could be reversed with time. 

" _ You like him don't you? _ " 

She smiled for the first time since waking. "What's not to like? He's sensitive and funny with the kids. He's exactly how I'd always imagined I'd be with them; bubble baths and magic." The twinge of jealousy was brushed away; they were the same emotions that surged whenever she saw someone so natural with kids. When Even moved on—which he no doubt would—the thought of him finding someone like  _ that  _ was a knife in her gut. The anxiety of being replaced was a real and present threat to her mind. That wasn’t a bridge she’d have to cross yet, hopefully, that hurdle was a long way off. Mentally Sonja was far from ready. "And he gets on so well with me and Even. He's like family." He seemed at home, too, fitted in easily. Well, before this week it had been easy. Something had caused him to become nervous—jittery almost. But that was probably due to being around—or in the middle—while she and Even were decoupling. It occurred to her that Mark was hesitating. "What? Don't you like him? You can't not like someone you've never met." 

_ "It's not that."  _

"What is it then?" 

He sighed. " _ I was dropping off Kristina the other night—Friday—at the dorm. Even's car was in the parking area. _ " 

Sonja frowned. That wasn’t odd, not really. "He dropped Isak off Friday." 

" _ It was out there a while." _

"They get on. They were probably talking. Maybe they went to a bar or something—it's what friends do. What are you getting at?" 

_ "Nothing, really. I thought it was strange, but you know better."  _

Sonja didn’t understand what might be strange about it. They were friendly. Despite the distance she’d kept from Even, she could still see Isak's friendship having a positive influence on him. Was it  _ strange  _ to Mark simply because Isak was a student or their nanny? "You get on with who you get on with." It was as straightforward as that. 

_ "That's true." _

"Anyway, I wanna get some rest before Isak comes back with the kids. I'll text later." 

_ "You need anything? I can bring soup, fruit, hugs?" _

She smiled. "I'm OK. I'm also highly contagious. I'll spare you my fate." Soup already filled two Tupperware cases in the freeze—made last month. She'd forgotten just how good Even’s cooking was. 

_ "Just let me know if anything changes or you need me."  _

"I will." 

_ "Speak to you later. Rest well." _

"Thank you." 

Rest was a little harder to come by when your brain was busy spinning the issues, trying to figure out how to make this screw-up right. But what had she thought would happen? That this situation would carry on? They’d ignore the obvious simply because she had no idea how to make this situation better for the kids? Sonja could cope with everyone on this planet seeing her as a monster, but not them.

Not for the first time did she have to accept that life just wasn’t as straightforward or easy as people seemed to make out. And the side note delivered with that thought was always accepted; she never made things easier. 


	19. Soup For Thought

###  Soup For Thought

“I saved some for you,” Christina said, her scarf woven around the lower half of her face muffled her words. 

“That’s very kind of you.” Isak murmured, only half present with the reply as he fumbled in for the keys while holding a squirming Bo on his hip. Even seemed to do that so easily, carry the youngest around while performing all manner of difficult tasks that mere humans used two hands for. 

If Isak thought he’d missed Even the previous week, it was nothing on the current hell he lived in. The last time he’d seen Even their heads were rested on the same pillow, naked and huddled together beneath his single duvet. It hadn’t been a chore at all to share his small bed. Every time he thought of Even, or recounted their words, or dwelled on those golden moments, it stung. When the time had come for Even to leave, he’d tried to wake Isak. It was too hard to say goodbye, so Isak had kept his eyes closed and pretended to sleep while a kiss was placed at the corner of his mouth—as light as a butterfly. He was in love—so deeply in love—and there was nothing he could do about it. Love wasn’t a state of being, it was a verb yet he was paralysed. 

“I might've picked off all the sweets though.”

Isak glanced at her desperately recalling the topic of conversation. “You did?” She nodded, grinning broadly. “What sweets?”

“There’s still icing on it, but there  _ were  _ chocolate buttons, too. And those gummy thingies. But they’re in my tummy now.”

“Mini Gems? But they’re my  _ favourite _ .”

“Mine too.”

“Evidently,” he snickered as she began to giggle. “Isn’t it a little early in the year for gingerbread houses?” Fingers snagging the keys he pulled them free from his pocket, thumbing through the set to find the right one for the front door. He was extremely grateful for Chris and the small tasks that were to be performed. Sonja was sick and spending more time at home, and his guilt had multiplied as much as his aching for Even, making him more awkward than usual around her. Every single duty or distraction helped him focus and stopped his worries from sprawling. 

“Dad says it’s for practice. We’re gonna make another one next month, I won’t eat all the sweeties then. Promise.” She rocked on her heels, hands behind her back, as he opened the door. 

“What do you think, Bo? Can she be trusted?” 

Bo added his own chuckle before shaking his head. “ _ Nooooo _ .”

“It’s as I feared,” Isak added, smirking back at a pouting Christina.

“Bo! You’re the one that doesn’t know when to stop. You stuff your face with yoghurt or sweets until you’re ill—”

The door opened and, after glancing into the living room, Isak held out a placating hand towards Chris. “Shush, sweetheart. Your mum.” 

And Christina did just that, abandoning her defence and flushing in abashment. But it didn’t take long for her to spring into action, kicking off her wellies as quietly as she could. The evidence of a wet muddy day stuck thickly to both childrens' boots—and some clothes in Bo's case. 

“It’s OK,” came a voice. Sonja’s head was above the blankets covering her where she lay on the sofa. The colour in her cheeks looked a healthier shade than this morning. “I wasn’t sleeping, I just don’t have the energy to move.” Free of her muddied belongings, Chris sprinted across the living room to lean over the arm of the sofa and place a kiss on her mother’s forehead. “Oh, darling, you’re cold. It’s like a compress. More, please.” And Chris obliged, leaning further forward and pressing several wet sounding kisses to Sonja’s cheeks.

“And you’re warm, mum.” It was declared sceptically, almost like a doctor who suspected a patient was far more sick than they were admitting to. 

“Hm? No, I’m fine. I’m feeling better than I did yesterday. My nose has stopped running anyway.” There was a pause while Chris observed her mother with a critical gaze before nodding. Bo had waddled over and dragged himself on top of the fleece mountain, snuggling into Sonja’s chest. 

“Miss oooo.”  _ Miss you _ —at least that's what Isak thought Bo meant as he mumbled into cotton. 

“I missed you too, baby. Good day?” Both kids hummed in equal agreement and tiredness. Winter chill always made the days a little more tiresome. “You wanna go get washed up and change into something clean? Nana came over; there's fresh soup for dinner and pyjamas are on your beds. Chris, can you help Bo?” 

Chris huffed as only a teenager should. “OK. But he has to be good. I can’t get his feet in the leg holes if he’s wriggling around on the floor like a fish out of water.” Her finger reached out to poke him in the side before she paused and a curious expression graced her features. Isak was more than familiar with that look. “Perhaps you  _ are  _ merfolk.”

Bo giggled. “I good, 'Ris. Bo be good.” With that agreement reached they made a slow procession upstairs, the older towing the younger with a firm grasp around his wrist. 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Isak took a few uneasy steps into the living room. Trying to play it cool wasn’t easy. He couldn’t shake the anxiety that she’d found out somehow and her smile would turn into a frown before the inevitable scolding ensued with the declaration that she would never forgive him for fucking her husband—the children watching from the stairs with disgust. Reality didn’t matter, her misdeeds didn’t play into the imagined scenarios, only his own immoralities ran around screaming in his skull like headless chickens. 

“I think there’s still some soup in the freezer,” he stated as her attention fell back to him. It was both small talk and a tiny measure of defence for Even, who cooked every day that Isak had been here to witness. Not once, to his knowledge, had Sonja eaten any. 

The pink in her cheeks darkened, her smile was rueful. “I finished it yesterday.”

_ “All of it? _ ”

She nodded. “It was  _ really _ good.” 

Schooling his face, Isak tried not to let on his shock. He probably shouldn’t have read so much into their daily interactions and noted these small things—they didn’t make it easy to stay impartial. Of course it was really good—Even was a master in the kitchen… and other places. He should change the subject. “And you feel better? Honestly?” She may have said that only to reassure Chris.

Nodding, Sonja smoothed the covers over her lap. “Actually I do. I think I can manage bedtime if you want the evening off?”

Perching himself on the sofa arm, Isak wiped his palms off on his jeans. How best to approach that proposition? It would be a good opportunity to get some studying done, but it wasn’t wise to make the unease he felt obvious. Isak needed to get used to being around Sonja and act like a normal human being who wasn’t screwing around with her marital partner in the process. Because he wasn't, not any more. They couldn’t—or they  _ shouldn’t _ . That was the conclusion they’d come to. How much did he still agree? 

“I’m not keen to leave you on your own. What if you get worse?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Isak. I appreciate your concern but they look worn out themselves. I don’t think they’ll be much trouble. The most I have to do is get them to brush their teeth in a few hours, maybe read a bit. I’m not incapable.” Her eyebrows were raised as if daring Isak to challenge her. He was smart enough not to wade into those waters. 

“If you’re sure.”

“I  _ am _ ,” she said, firm and kind. 

Standing, Isak hesitated over whether he had the right to divulge what played on his tongue, but knowing Sonja’s past it could only help. This might be the first time in a long while that she was spending the majority of the day at home, just herself and the kids. “They’re pleased, you know. You being home. Bo picked some flowers for you—they're in his coat pocket, and Chris made a picture at school, also for you. It’s in her bag.”

Her smile deepened. “It’s nice to be spending time with them, not rushing around to be dropped here, or attend this class or—" a sigh cut her words short. "You of all people know what it’s been like.” She paused, looking inwards. “I’ve missed them. I didn’t know how busy things had become. I didn’t know how much  _ he _ did, until—” she stopped, looking at Isak in the same abashed way Chris had earlier. He stood on completely illegitimate higher ground, hating every single damn moment. 

“It’s OK,” he said, not entirely sure what he was absolving—or who. 

But she was already shaking her head. “It’s not. Not for the kids, and not for you. I’m sorry that you’re in the middle of it.”

Isak shrugged his shoulders. “I’m—” he cut himself off. How was he supposed to respond to this subject with her? “It’s between you both. I’m just the nanny.”

Sonja snorted. “You’re more than that now. We’ve never had anyone who fits in like you. It’s more like family. You know?” Isak’s mouth was dry and his stomach twisted. “I know the kids love you, Even thinks a lot of you, and so do I.” 

All he could do was nod and hope that the red in his face was mistaken for shyness at receiving such an endorsement. “I think a lot of you, too—all of you.” It wasn’t a lie. 

“Good,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Having established that fact, I don’t want you to argue about the fact that you’re on holiday pay for a week from Saturday. I’m taking the kids up to my mum’s. I need some space.”

Isak’s mouth was open as he grappled for a reply. A week?  _ Holiday _ ? “Right. OK. That—um—the kids will love that. She lives by the sea, right?”

“Uh-huh. But I’ll have to watch Chris doesn’t try to turn into a Mermaid—her methods are slightly barbaric.” Isak frowned and she continued, answering the unspoken question. “She wanted to see if Bo could hold his breath underwater for a long time before she tries it herself.”

Isak couldn’t help but grunt a laugh. “That’s my fault.”

She shrugged. “You’ve given her some magic—it’s nothing to be sorry for.” She blinked as a new topic came to mind—Isak had learned quite a bit about her mannerisms, too. “You have the spare keys, right?”

Gripping his pocket, he felt at the bump that clinked as metal kissed metal. “Yup. Why?”

“You are welcome to make yourself at home here—while we’re gone. You have exams coming up?" He nodded. "I know it gets noisy at your dorm. Treat it as your home, OK? And if you need any more reasons to take the offer it would be nice to have someone here while we aren't—for a few days at least.” she smiled, everything perfectly planned and wrapped up in her eyes.

Isak knew he didn’t deserve the welcome or the generosity. But if he denied her an explanation would likely be asked for. Isak knew he wasn't strong enough to hold off confessing at the first round of questions. “I promise—when it gets noisy, I’ll come.” 

Nodding, Sonja looked pleased with herself. “Good.” 

There was another hesitation. “And Even? Does he know you’re going?”

Chewing her lip, she showed another expression, one Isak had only seen on her once before: unsureness. “No. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. But he hasn’t had  _ any _ time off at all, never been away once for even a night—until now, I guess. It’s not punishment, or I’m not trying to be cruel. I think he needs some space, too. But I won’t go if he says no. I don’t wanna—” she gave up on whatever she didn’t intend to do with another sigh. “Things are already fucked enough. I don’t think we need any more tension between us.” 

It was Isak’s turn to nod, trying and failing to find where the conversation should go next. She was right, they didn’t need any more stress. “OK. Well, I’m around whatever happens. I’ll pick them up from school tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

Giving her an awkward salute, Isak wondered how he made leaving so difficult. "Until then." Shoulders slumping in anticipated relief, Isak turned towards the door. He needed some fresh air and some time to think. But as he reached for the handle, feet clattered down the stairs.

"Are you going?" Christina called out breathlessly as she jumped the last five stairs into the living room. 

"I am," he said with a warm smile. "But I'll pick you up tomorrow." 

"Oh, good," she exclaimed before arriving at his feet and throwing her arms around his middle. Bo sat on the landing waving, his pyjama top was on inside out and back to front. But the trousers were on—which was something. 

"You did a good job with your brother," he mused. 

"I know." It was said matter-of-factly while she pushed herself away from him and moved to lean against the sofa. "Did you get the present?" 

Isak frowned. "Present?" 

Sonja made a sound that declared she'd forgotten about whatever Chris had brought up. "Oh, yes. To say thank you for the past week. Chris, can you get it? It's on the table." 

Chris was moving before she'd been asked and back before Isak blinked. It must have been on the dining table. She held a long thin gift bag by two ribbon straps, the kind made for bottles—usually containing alcohol. "Mum says I can't look." It was held out and Isak took it while a set of eight-year-old eyes tracked the mysterious gift curiously. Then she waited patiently. 

"You didn't have to," he began turning to Sonja, "honestly. It's not even work really—" 

Sonja shook her head briskly and he stalled. "Let me do gifts. It's about the only way I know how to show my appreciation." It was said with dry humour that belied the truth. "So you can relax properly next week." 

What could he say? There would be plenty of opportunities to palm whatever this was off at the dorm. She didn't need to know that. "Well, thank you then. I'll do my best to enjoy it." Chris was still staring, waiting for the reveal. He reached out a hand to prod at the end of her nose. "I'm going to open this later if that's OK with you." It was one thing to graciously lie in the acceptance of what was still an unknown gift, it would be another to reveal it and then play at excitement for whatever this was. His palms were slick again. 

Chewing her lip, Chris looked slightly deflated. "OK. But you owe me now.”

“I do?” 

She hummed, nodding in complete conviction. “I  _ did  _ just run and get it. That took  _ a lot _ of energy. And I picked the gift bag.”

Was there anyone who could say no to Chris? “I’ll see what I can do. Tomorrow?”

Her face split in a victorious grin. “Tomorrow.” 


	20. Guilt Leads To Sexting, Straight Up.

### Guilt Leads To Sexting, Straight Up

"It's not like I could say no." 

There came a hum on the end of the line. " _You've been saying that a lot lately."_ She only knew the half of it. 

Isak rolled his eyes. He'd placed the bottle on the inner corner of his table, it buttressed against the window and the curtain hid it from him. Grey Goose wasn't that cheap, Isak couldn't bring himself to bin it. "It's not gonna hang around. There'll be a party on the weekend and I can donate it. You know, to my friends." 

Her exhale was filled with apprehension. _"I just don't like that it's—_ " she stopped. Isak knew what she was restricting herself from saying. That it was anywhere near him, freely available. He was an asshole to cause this much anxiety over a bottle of goddamn vodka. _"I know—I know you're fine. It's fine. I'm sorry for worrying._ " But Isak admitted they were legitimate worries, to himself at least, it was why he'd made sure the curtains covered it. It was like having an angry wasp in your room that you were trying to ignore. 

"You don't have to be sorry. I'm sorry," he replied. 

She laughed, it was uneasy but it was there. " _What a pair, huh? Us two?_ " Isak muttered something that was close to an agreement. " _But she seems nice. That's a nice gift, and she doesn't know why it wouldn't be something for you. And she said you can stay there next week? How are the kids?"_ It was rapid-fire statements, the way his mum would rattle off grounding sentiments as much for herself as anyone else. 

"They're good. They're happy to spend more time with their mum." 

" _Children don't need much when they're young. Just the important things."_ There was a pause as a question was structured. " _You think they'll get back together?_ ”

Isak restrained the natural emotional response that came too easily. Sonja had seemed reflective, softened in the small things she said about Even. And she wanted to have space to think? Would she want them to work things out? “I don’t know.” It was said as neutrally as he could muster. 

“ _Can’t be an easy position for you_ ,” she said lightly. Too lightly.

Isak huffed impatiently. “It has nothing to do with me. I’m just the nanny.” Sonja’s words taunted him—a part of the family? There was no way she would feel the same way if she found out. Isak listened as the second hand on his clock wall ticked five times into the silence. 

“ _Has anything happened between you and him?_ ”

“ _No_ .” The lie was an instant reaction he had no control of. “No, we wouldn’t. Just… nothing has happened—or _will_ happen.” And nothing was going on between them, not since that night, so maybe it was a half-truth. Isak regretted it because every single moment they’d shared here in his bed and every last heavy breath had been etched into his memory. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Even, he could feel where his hands had been, he still ached. Taste, touch, sound… all of his senses were under compulsion. And there was nothing he could do about it, there was no way to forget it. As much as he missed Even, it was a mercy that he hadn’t seen his face because there was nothing in Isak that promised to do the right thing and everything that said he would do anything for one more kiss. 

One kiss would never be enough. 

She didn’t have to speak for Isak to know she didn’t believe him. “ _Well, you know you can trust me— if something happens. I won’t judge. I just—_ ” She sighed, her badly masked worry was bubbling to the surface. “ _I need to know you’re OK_.”

“And I am.” A tear slipped down his cheek, crying with absolutely zero effort. Things really weren’t OK if he was lying to her. She knew it, too. Was she crying? A muffled sniff indicated that might be the case but it was overshadowed by a chesty bout of coughing. “You OK? Mum?”

_“I’m good,_ ” she managed, although failing to reassure Isak. “ _Lea is gonna be home soon, we’re doing a tea evening. She brought all these exotic flavours—loose tea. Fancy as you like.”_

Isak shook his head. It seemed she liked to distract as much as he did himself. Once the term was over he would go see her, or he could visit next wee—maybe a surprise visit. “Make sure you have cheese and biscuits. Tea is nothing without cheese and biscuits.”

The cough turned into a husky laugh. “ _I miss you, sweetheart_.”

“You’ll see me soon.”

“ _Good. Now I have to go and look at these teapots your sister got us. They’re glass and you put flowers in them—big flowers, Isak, like the size of a baby's fist—and when you add hot water they bloom, you watch them bloom. Then you’re supposed to drink it._ ” She sounded baffled by that, it sounded strange to Isak, too. But if anyone was down for weird tea _things_ it was Lea. She would probably love The Caprice. For the first time, he found himself smiling as he imagined his mum and sister sitting together in the kitchen, around the bar with all mum's cast irons hanging and pyrex dishes stacked, while Lea directed this bizarre tea drinking ritual and his mum scrutinised the alien set up in front of her. He would bet it would take five minutes before she brought out her old faithful blue teapot and the cat-shaped cosy.

Something in his thoughts gave him comfort. “Take pics for me? You can send them on messenger.” 

“ _OK. That could be fun. As long as you send pictures of whatever you’re doing—within reason, I mean.”_

Isak snorted a laugh. “ _Mum_. What does that even… you know what? Never mind.”

Her chuckle gave him comfort, too. “ _Go rest. You need as much rest as you need study time—if not more.”_

The advice seemed sage, Isak felt like sleeping. This week had been an entire month. “I will. I miss you too, by the way. And… um… Lea as well.” He could feel her smile.

“ _She misses you_.”

“Well, it won’t be long until she can blame things on me and steal my pocket money—tell her that.”

“ _I will._ ”

“I’ll call on the weekend.”

“ _OK. Speak soon_.” 

Thoughts and feelings were a tangled ball that chased him to the shower, and they didn’t dissolve in the water. As briskly as he could move, worries caught up and settled on him, winding themselves around his brain and across his chest. They were heavy and varied. He couldn’t shake his concern for his mum, and there was no ignoring the void in his life that Even had filled. Adding to that, his brain produced scenarios where a humbled and sorry Sonja was set to be his competitor. Except if that happened he knew there would be nothing for him to do but bow out. 

No second-guessing or pause ensued when his phone vibrated, once he'd snuggled deep the covers. His hand darted out to grab it. It could be Even, despite him promising not to get in touch unless it was important and the fact that Isak knew he was a man of his word. It still could be him…

Isak sighed, guilt spread with the appearance of disappointment as he found a series of pictures with his mum and sister drinking tea. They’d found stick-on moustaches to make it all the more formal. It was cute, he told himself, and he texted that sentiment right back, adding that he was in bed and that it wouldn’t make for an interesting subject to return the favour. 

Staring at his inbox, Isak fought a silent battle with himself. One message couldn’t hurt… 

**I miss you**

Scanning their old messages, Isak realised he'd broken the code; he'd reached a point of openness, leaving irrefutable clues for the world to see. Tears were back in his eyes as Isak pulled the covers over his head, shielding himself from the realities of the world, with only the glow from the screen to light the darkness surrounding him as he waited for a reply. It didn’t take long. 

**_Me too_ **

**_So much_ **

**I can’t stop thinking about you**

The filter in place, when Isak had diligently replied very simply, was gone, yet he pulled himself up short. There was no in-between, it was either a concise reply or his thumbs would take over and ask a million questions and tell a thousand more little things that'd happened and Even didn’t know about. So this is what it felt like to find someone you wanted to share your life with?

**_I don’t think I can do this_ **

Isak’s heart thudded to a halt. That could mean anything…

**Do what?**

**_Stay away from you_ **

How could reassurance be so painful? Isak closed his eyes pressing the phone to his chest. But there wasn’t any other way, not right now. There was no _honest_ way. The phone buzzed again, his lamentation not strong enough to keep him from checking the moment Even's words arrived. 

**_I love you_ **

That was the final straw that broke Isak’s block. They'd said it, in a way, last weekend, but it was another thing to see written down.

**I love you**

**I think about you all the time and it hurts not to speak to you**

**I wanna know where you are, what you’re doing, how you’re feeling…**

**I feel like I’m going insane**

Blowing out his lips in a sigh, Isak waited for a reply. When it wasn't instantaneous he added:

**Was that too much? I sound like a stalker**

**_Noooo_ **

**_Never_ **

**_Believe me, I’m smiling and I don’t think I’ve smiled all week_ **

**_Also crying… just a bit_ **

**Baby don’t cry**

Isak texted the words while his own cheeks were wet. 

**_Calling me baby isn’t gonna make me less cryey_ **

**_Or less stupid_ **

**_I wanna see you so bad_ **

His thumbs tapped at thin air trying to figure out the correct reply or whether he should be sorry. Before he could conjure up the right words, Even texted again.

**_But don’t let that stop you calling me baby_ **

Biting his lip, Isak smiled at the plethora of emojis: crying face, laughing face, and heart—repeated in a pattern.

**I won’t**

**I wanna see you too but it’s gonna get harder to leave every time**

Isak read over the conversation and then frowned at a point he hadn’t berated Even over. 

**And you’re not stupid. Don’t say that again. Ever.**

The thought of emojis in place of actual conversation had always made Isak roll his eyes—it was immature. And yet here he was grinning just because Even sent a heart back. 

**_I feel like I can hear your tone and your tone feels like you’re telling me off. Is that right, Mr Valtersen?_ **

The grin was so enthusiastic it made Isak's cheeks ache. 

**I *feel* like you’re trying to tell me you have a role-playing kink**

**_I did fall in love with the nanny so maybe you have a point_ **

Isak was sure he couldn’t add any more conflicting emotions to the mix: with loneliness and fullness, happiness and sorrow, rocking him around precariously. Now he was melting in Even’s soppiness while getting hard. Was that normal?

**What are you trying to do?**

**_Idk. Am I doing something?_ **

**You’re doing a lot**

**_I’m not sure if this is the right time to mention this but I considered sending my first dick pic this week_ **

Isak choked on his own sudden laughter, while subconsciously sliding his free hand down over his stomach. There wouldn’t be a right time to _casually_ mention that. Even knew that, too.

**Considered? Why didn’t you send it?**

Isak knew exactly why. 

**_I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate_ **

**_Plus I made a promise_ **

**_My dick isn’t an emergency_ **

Sense and safety were quickly slipping through the backdoor of his mind. How much harm was a text conversation anyway? His cock seemed to have an answer because it throbbed beneath his palm, what it was trying to say was pretty obvious.

**Well that's completely subjective**

**Fyi you have a beautiful cock and it’s always welcome in my inbox**

**And other places**

Licking his lips, Isak watched the screen eager for a reply. It couldn't be too much, not after Even brought up dick pics. Plus, it was the truth; Even had a beautiful cock. Every single part of him was beautiful. 

**_Fuck_ **

**_Isak_ **

**_What are YOU trying to do?_ **

**Idk what I’m *trying* to do but I know what I *am* doing right now**

Smirking to himself, Isak was left to wait again, this time long enough for the screen to turn off. A spare second passed for him to frown before Even’s name was on the screen, calling this time. Nerves rippled over his skin, anticipation made his inhale a sharp stab, his arousal heightened. It’s not like he hadn’t goaded… 

“Hi,” he answered as meekly as he could. 

There was a snort of laughter on the other end and a din in the background. “ _What are you doing?_ ” 

“In general or right now?”

“ _Now_ .” There was a firmness, an abruptness, in Even’s voice—he _needed_ to know, and that didn’t do anything to calm Isak. If anything it encouraged him. Chest clamping down on a moan that threatened, Isak gripped his cock. But he paused before answering, suddenly feeling too demure to be blunt—which was absurd considering what he was about to do. 

“You know what I’m doing.”

“ _Fuck_.” The din was shut out as a door closed, and what sounded like a latch snapping into place. 

“Are you at work?”

“ _Yes, I’m in the office._ ” Isak snickered making Even tut. “ _It’s not funny_ ,” he added in light reprimand. 

“I’m not laughing at you, but…” Isak hesitated.

Even’s grin was audible. “ _But what_?” 

“You kinda started it, talking about dick pics.”

“ _You brought up kinks._ ”

And that was true. But Isak was sure Even had started it somehow. His hard-on wasn’t doing much for short term memory. “Do you want me to stop?”

There was a pause. “ _If you drop it and I go back to work are you gonna stop doing what you're doing_ ?” Isak’s delayed reply was an answer in itself. “ _Exactly_ . _So, I wanna listen._ ”

There was absolutely no hope in him stopping now, nor restraining another moan. Did he turn Even on as effortlessly as Even turned him on? “I’ve never fucking done this before,” he stuttered out. And that was true but his body was reacting as though this was all completely natural and straightforward—which it was. Touching himself had never felt so intense. 

“ _Me neither, baby.”_

The simple way Even caressed the last word forced a whimper just as his hand reached the head of his cock, palm becoming slick. “I miss you, I miss your voice, and your laugh—fuck, Even. I need you.” 

The groan on the end of the line made Isak’s head spin. Those noises had intoxicated him that night, now they brought back images and feelings. Even’s hands had known him before they’d found him. There was no one on earth that could touch him like Even—Isak was sure of that. “ _You sound so good,_ ” Even rasped. “ _I love the way you sound.”_ There was another heavy and telling exhale. 

“Are you doing it, too?” It felt juvenile that Isak couldn’t use more specific terms, but Even understood and found no cause to tease. Not now at least. 

_“Yeah. There’s a toilet in the office.”_ Isak snickered before it was lost to another moan, imagining Even in the bathroom, leaning against the wall, dick in his hand while talking to Isak, face flushed as he lost himself right there—in public. “ _I miss the way you taste, the way you feel. When I close my eyes you’re there—your body, your mind. Fuck, you’re amazing…”_

Isak’s hand was moving faster, his chest rising and falling harder, his words slipping away from him. Jerking off had been a continuous theme this week, and for the first time in his life, the need to pace himself was necessary because as soon as he visualised Even straddling him, or spooning him, or blowing him, or just goddamn looking at him, he would lose it so fast. Isak was right there with Even, back in their teen days and there were absolutely no regrets. 

He was muttering Even’s name, trying to pick out words to say. He was only human and this was an unfair assault on his senses. Isak could almost feel the air from Even’s pants on his neck. “Baby, I’m gonna come.” 

_“I want you to. I want to hear you come.”_ His words were rapid like Isak’s had been. _“Remember the things you did in the shower?”_

Of course he did. Heat and steam had Even's moans cloying to the tiles, like the condensation. Fingers spread and grasping futile at the slippery surface as Even weakened beneath Isak's tongue. "Yeah." 

_"I wanna do that to you. Next time."_

There were two items in that statement that undid Isak: imagining Even pushing him to the wall forcefully as Isak had done, and the very firm way that he'd stated that it would happen next time. 

_Next time..._

"Fuck. Even. Fuck." There was no point trying to control anything when it came to them—or fight the inevitable. The phone was left on the pillow, Isak's hand scrabbling along the floor to find something— _anything_ . The first thing available was a sock, nothing made the point more than that; they were goddamn teens. Isak's cum spilt over his knuckles before being wiped off. The groans were quickly followed by a snicker until he realised Even was groaning out Isak's name, gasps bookended cuss words. He was coming, too. "Jesus, you sound so hot. _Christ_.” Deep and heavy breaths followed, Isak heard a tap running and paper towels being pulled from a dispenser before there was a low chuckle. 

" _That was unexpected,"_ Even mused wryly, still finding his breath. " _I really need to work on my stamina… you finish me so quickly, even when you’re not here."_

Isak hummed in contented agreement. "Ditto. I guess we can call this exercise." 

" _I think I can just about sell that to Mikael: I need at least fifteen minutes of exercise in the office per day_..." 

That would be something, a daily conversation that led to this. But Isak already needed to feel Even’s body heat; he needed to physically be with him. "I just wish you were here." 

_"Me too."_

For the benefit of no one but himself, Isak pouted. When would the next time be? He didn't dare ask. "Soon, I guess." 

" _It will be. We'll find a way."_

Isak opened his mouth, considering what his brain wanted to blurt out. There was an opportunity next week. Even could come here, with Sonja and the kids away perhaps it would be less dangerous. But then that would mean telling Even what Sonja had intended to talk about. That felt wrong in a way he couldn’t explain—like he was snitching. His worrying was cut short when there was a knock on the other end of the line. 

" _That's Mikael,"_ Even said. " _Baby, I better go. Is that OK_?" 

To drive home the point, Isak heard someone calling Even's name. "Of course it is. We'll speak soon." He would wait for Even to text, once he and Sonja had spoken. Or maybe he would call. Things were still so unstable.

_"I just don’t want you to think that's all I want—to get off. I miss all of you, not just the sexy parts. I miss talking to you."_

Dismissing the instinct to tease Even, Isak was more concerned with reassurance. “I know it’s not just about that.”

_“Good. I love you.”_

Isak’s heart leapt into his mouth hearing the words. The worries melted in the warmth that was quick to settle in his body. “I love you, too.” 


	21. When A Deadlock Is Not A Deadlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s weird,” he began, voice too loud in his ears, “you being here.” 
> 
> Snapping out of the thoughts she’d lost herself in, Sonja focused on him—wide-eyed and unsure. “I didn’t know if I should come. But I just needed to speak to you. Sending a message didn’t seem right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, first and foremost, for being patient with me. The last MONTHS have been a lot (and they aren't really getting any easier -- she says writing from quarantine with her two kids). On top of that, these sections of the story I'm finding difficult to apply to, for one reason or another. Anyway, I could go on and on about this that and the other but... I just hope you enjoy <3 
> 
> Thank you again <3

###  When A Deadlock is Not A Deadlock 

Pressing his hand flat to the radiator, Even paused long enough to feel the warmth begin to spread. The water could be heard gurgling through the system but it was prudent to check, especially while the plumber was still downstairs, settling up with Mikael. 

This week had been purgatory; hovering in a lonely space between home, work, and the hotel—all the while lacking Isak. Keeping busy had been the only way to stop worrying about where he was supposed to be and where he  _ wanted  _ to be. There’d been time with the kids, but nowhere near the usual amount. Chris had asked questions that Even didn’t know how to answer. His response was always along the lines of  _ work is just busy, sweetheart _ and  _ Uncle Miky needs some company _ . She wasn’t satisfied with his answers but for once didn’t push for the truth. Perhaps she already knew what it was, he wouldn’t put it past her. 

Even hated lying and especially to them. He and Sonja needed to talk so they could know what to tell the kids, then they could all start adjusting to a slightly different life—whatever shape it took. But it was hard enough simply seeing Sonja in passing, civility was an effort larger than scaling Everest. All the moments of injustice that Even had shouldered silently were out in force, wrestling for their moment on the metaphoric megaphone currently wedged in Even’s throat. And  _ that  _ wouldn’t get them anywhere. How had he managed to remain so empathetic for so long? He needed to remember that skill. Maybe it was hard to grasp because now he was far from innocent—or at least felt like it.

Scanning the room, Even nodded to himself, refocusing on practical action. One of the  _ busy things _ that had burned through a fair amount of hours was turning this unused space into something cosy. He held no doubts that Isak would make this scheme of his work and it would require a special space. As well as the plumber fixing the ancient system of piping installed upstairs to thaw the place out, he’d made one of the walls a mural—flowing shapes with soft lines and even softer colours. With some new rugs and beanbags scattered around, a calming vibe had been injected into what was an otherwise plain environment. 

And Isak was completely clueless to Even’s efforts. Imagining his reaction never failed to inspire a grin. 

He was still grinning as he ran the tap in the small bathroom, letting the water run over the back of his hand. Warm water was the last thing he needed to check. That would be pretty damn necessary now winter was knocking on the door. 

Low voices continued to make a din below the creaky floorboards, they travelled to the front of the gallery before the front door opened and closed, then quiet. The water ran hot with no sign of wavering. Even turned off the flow, satisfied, when the door opened once more followed by a brief exchange—one of the two voices he was sure was new. Then feet were on the stairs. 

Mikael’s head appeared around the doorframe as Even was drying his hands on a paper towel. One eyebrow rose in playful questioning. “You're not gonna finish the ones up here, too?” 

“I might,” he mused. If he could figure out how exactly Mikael always knew what Even had done—especially when those things could be potentially embarrassing—he would sure as hell use it right back. When he’d rung off from Isak yesterday and opened the door, Mikael was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and a knowing expression on his face, tutting in case the mocking disapproval had been lost on Even. That’s what best friends were for, apparently—knowing instinctively and teasing unrelentingly. 

“At least lock the door. I’ll have to get some hand sanitizer up here…”

Snorting, Even could only shake his head. “ _ Once _ . I did it once. Are you ever gonna let me forget it?”

“Absolutely fucking not.” But he was smirking, like when they were kids and Even had been caught out writing a love poem to some poor fuck in their class. “You’re starting to  _ live _ again and I’m enjoying every last minute and the stupid fucking things that love does to your brain.” 

“Whatever,” Even mumbled, only half meaning the ire. The grin Isak caused was difficult to shed. He wanted to remind his best friend that he’d kept various secrets on Mikael’s behalf over the many years and never once taunted him about any of them. Well, not  _ too  _ much. But, in all honesty, the support was nice, even if every opportunity to goad was being utilized. “Was there any reason you came up here, or you just wanted to harass me again over the use of bathroom products that we  _ both  _ pay for?”

“You have a visitor.” Even wasn’t sure what his facial expressions were doing but it must have been obvious where his conclusion had drawn a line to. Mikael slowly shook his head. “And it’s not who you want it to be.” 

Even shrugged, trying to pass off the overwhelming tide of excitement that had welled in the eyeblink of time given to hope. “OK, I never—,” he shook his head. His friend knew him. There was no point in denying the obvious. “Who is it?”

The hesitation in Mikael’s reply was answer enough. “But she’s never been here—not since opening,” he stated with a frown.

His friend looked as confused as he felt. “And she looks like her tail is between her legs. I was gonna offer a drink but… well, I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay, or if you want her to be here, or... “ he trailed off, uncomfortable at being in the middle, or present at all when it came to their marital issues. Who could blame him?

“It’s fine,” Even said, moving past his friend. “The heating is on up here so you’re more than welcome to hide if that’s what you want.” 

“I  _ could  _ do with a laydown, and I think those bean-sack-things need to be tested—for safety.” 

“Just don’t break them,” Even cast over his shoulder as Mikael flopped with a soft crunch into the largest beanbag. 

It was impossible to hold off the dark mood that descended with the awareness of Sonja’s presence here. He knew some of the unease was down to the fact he wasn’t ready to talk about this yet. There was no trick he’d tried yet that erased the guilt. Whether it was appropriate for him to feel guilt or not—and Mikael argued that he should absolutely not feel that way—it was there all the same. And perhaps not for the obvious reasons. 

Was it his desire for Isak that finally forced this issue to a head? Would he still be pretending that everything was fine if he  _ hadn’t  _ experienced the desire to follow a new life? If that was the case, did it justify guilt? Was it OK to have motives, desires, and needs? Have them and let them shape your life and the lives of those attached to you? Was there any motivation that  _ was  _ pure?

This was entirely new ground he traversed. Putting himself to the forefront of decision making felt wrong simply because he hadn’t done so in such a long time. That alone wasn’t wrong and the self-doubting mindset needed to be changed because it clouded his judgment of what was  _ fair  _ in the circumstance. 

Could Sonja understand? Isak had been astute with his estimation of how she would react. Half the time Sonja’s resentment for the nannies who’d worked with them sprouted from unease. She was scared they would become so common in the kids’ lives that she was no longer required. For whatever reason things hadn’t been that way with Isak, there was no challenge in her eyes for him. And  _ this  _ might fuel her fears. Even wasn’t sure he could judge her reactions fairly. 

Halting on the bottom step, he found her staring at the sea-scape, seemingly lost in it. Seeing her didn’t stoke any anger, just unease at her being in this space, searching the notes Even had made with paintbrush and paint for clues. There was a notion of exposure. Being seen by her, after these years of both being overlooked and hiding, was terrifying. He should have found it in him to be honest before this, apart from that one single moment that had begun the chapter marked by Bo’s existence. There had been time and he should have kept trying. It shouldn’t have come to this. 

Yet without this mess, he would never have met Isak. 

“It’s weird,” he began, voice too loud in his ears, “you being here.” 

Snapping out of the thoughts she’d lost herself in, Sonja focused on him—wide-eyed and unsure. “I didn’t know if I should come. But I just needed to speak to you. Sending a message didn’t seem right.” There’d been moments she could have grabbed this week when Even had picked up or dropped off the kids. Or when he’d stuck around to help with homework and making gingerbread. Yet he knew it was impossible to broach anything with the kids around. 

Even crossed his arms as he leant against the bar, needing the distance to remain between them. “I’m listening.”

“I know that we need to talk—”

“I don’t think I want to do that now—not here.” Even was quick to cut her off. It was the truth but there was a motive present. He wasn’t ready or composed enough in his thoughts to speak with her about the massive alterations that needed to be made. That and he wanted her apologies held at bay while his own guilt was all too present. 

But she shook her head. “No, I don’t mean to do it now. I don’t think I know what to say yet.”

“That makes two of us,” his voice was iron, but she wouldn’t know the frustration was for the both of them. The way that she rubbed at her arms, gaze dropping, told Even she took his coolness as a shun. 

“I like what you’ve done here.” One hand tentatively gestured around the space. “It looks good. And I’m pleased you got that contract—with the private hospitals?”

Disorientation made Even glad for the bar taking his weight; his thoughts spun in rapid confusion. It was one thing for her to be standing here, another entirely for her to be taking an interest. What had changed? “How do you know?”

The smile that came before her reply was weak and nervous. “I’ve been talking to Isak. He seems up to date on what’s going on.” 

Even flushed, discomfort prickling the skin between his shoulder blades. “Thanks,” he mumbled. But she hadn’t come all this way to congratulate him. “But what do you want?”

Her hand dropped, intentions to make the conversation light snuffed. Licking her lips, she found the will to look at him. “I want to take the kids to my mum’s for a week.” 

Even was sitting down on a barstool before he knew what he was doing. “ _ A week _ ?” He’d never been away from them that long.

“I know—and it’s absolutely not to hurt you, or upset you—I promise.” Even resisted the urge to snort a laugh at her mention of promises, like her word was something he could trust. Shame was hot on that notion’s trail as he considered what weight his own words held now. There was nothing more undignified and stupid than throwing stones in glass houses. “I need some time to just… to be away right now. And I haven’t spent much time with them—the kids—the last…  _ years  _ actually _.  _ Quality time, I mean. It would do us some good to just not have anything to do except fun. I haven’t done much of that with them. And I think—” she stopped abruptly, her usual self-assurance completely absent. 

“You think  _ what _ ?” It was more than an ask, it was a demand.

“I think you haven’t had a break. You’ve been working so hard and it might be good for you. With some space and time, I think both of us will come to a point where we can have a conversation and make it constructive.” She chewed her lower lip, waiting on a response. 

This was the first time in too many years that she was vocal about considering him—what he wanted or needed. Even wasn’t sure how to respond or simply how to feel. This was not the face he expected Sonja to show. She was attempting to understand him. But how much could her newfound empathy be stretched? “That’s, I—um—I don’t know what to say, Sonja.” 

She was shaking her head. “I’m not asking for anything, and if you don’t want them to go I won’t take them.”

And  _ he  _ had the final say? She wouldn’t go if he said no? “I’m not saying no, I’m just—” he sighed exasperatedly at the whole situation. Where had her consideration been up until now? Perhaps it was better to be pleased that it came late, rather than not at all. Her being here, saying these things, didn’t help when it came to his tangle of emotions. He would miss them—the kids, a week without them would be excruciating. Yet there were things he could do with them gone, and it would give him some breathing space. That could be good for him. “When are you going?” 

“I was thinking maybe tomorrow.”

Even nodded. “I’ll come over in the morning, spend some time with them before you go.”

She was nodding vehemently. “If we leave after lunch we should get there before it gets dark.” 

“Can you… keep me updated? Send me pictures? They can call me—”

“I already said to Chris that she can, whenever she wants. She wants to make a video diary for you while we’re away—and put them on Youtube. I don’t think the world is ready for that.”

Even found himself grunting a laugh at the thought. “No, I don't think it is," he mused, imagining Chris in front of the camera, naturally flourishing and charming like a magician. "I like the idea, that would be nice.” 

“Good.”

There was an uncomfortable truce that settled between them. Even could feel that she wanted to say more, that she would be happy to stay, but he didn’t want to let the silence enable the unbearable apology he could hear in the air already.

“I have a lot of stuff to do, upstairs.”

Disappointment was present in the hum she made speaking on that point. “I heard about what you’re doing—with Isak.”

Even’s stomach churned, his body froze before his mind caught on to what she had to be speaking about. There was no way she could have stated that so quietly, so comfortably, if she meant what he thought she’d meant. “Oh, with the kids?”

Sonja blinked, a moment of confusion cleared in a heartbeat. “Yes, the painting lessons. It sounds really amazing—honestly.”

He was nodding, too caught up in covering his nervous fear to be guarded. How much did Isak and Sonja talk? He hadn’t considered how close they'd become. “Yeah, I’m excited. It’s a really worthwhile project, and Isak,” he paused to swallow, it felt strange to talk about him to her. “He really is… something. I think this will make a big difference.” 

Smile deepening, she didn’t seem to read anything into his reactions. “He is.”

It felt like deadlock. Where did Even take this conversation now they had somehow stumbled across the common factor of Isak and how special they both thought he was?

“Anyway, I've gotta—”

“ _ Right _ , yes. Of course.” Sonja turned from him and to the exit, taking in the art once more before she'd leave. There was no bubble surrounding her anymore; she was trying to absorb everything. 

“Thanks, Sonja. For coming by and asking.”

She sent him a smile over her shoulder, it was bittersweet. Perhaps she too was dwelling on how late they were at being honest with each other. Maybe there was hope for them all yet, to survive this in one piece. “Don’t mention it.” 

Even wasn’t sure how long he was left on his own to ponder over the interaction that had just occurred, but it was a hand landing on his shoulder that jostled him from his thoughts. 

“That was more civil than I thought it would be,” Mikael mused. 

“What’s the point in being angry?” 

A sideways glance was sent his way that said his friend could make an entire PowerPoint presentation to answer that question. But when he spoke, Mikael changed the direction of the conversation. “You have a week to yourself?” 

“So it seems.”

"I guess you’ll find something to occupy yourself with.” Not even a half-assed attempt was made to hide his smirk. 

Snorting, Even shook his head. “He wants us to keep our distance until things are better—you know when everything is figured out.”

“How’s that going for you both?” The humour in his voice hinting at the conversation he'd interrupted yesterday. 

“Well,  _ obviously _ it’s not easy,” Even retorted in defence for both him and Isak. Besides, what was a little phone sex? 

The smirk Mikael wore softened. He was rooting for them. “Look, I get it. I know he wants to do things  _ right _ . And I think I like him more for that. But, there’s nothing wrong with spending some time together, ya know? Doesn’t have to be all fucking and blowjobs.” 

He flushed at his friend's bluntness “Of course it doesn't.” Although to be fair, he would take the fucking and blowjobs—gladly. “I just want to make sure I respect his boundaries. I don’t wanna offer things that will make him uncomfortable or jeopardise his values. It’s hard for him.”

Mikael sighed. “You’re both sickeningly perfect, you know that?” 

That wasn’t true, for him at least. Isak, on the other hand, couldn’t be more perfect if he tried. “Well, perfect doesn’t necessarily make things easy.”

“Most good things aren’t easy, Even.” All he could do was hum to that. It  _ was _ worth it, and it would be well worth the wait. “So I have to put up with you moping around until he comes to you, huh?”

Even grinned at him. “That’s what friends are for, right?” 


	22. Rule Breaking

### Rule Breaking 

Stepping back from the wall, Even analysed his progress. The outline was done and that hadn’t taken as long as estimated. In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that he found it easy to sketch magical beings that looked like Chris and Isak. The step after that had been covering the wall in a layer of light blue, not thick enough to cover his detailed markings but adequately rich to give depth to the sky which would be the background for the figures, leaves, and flowers. Nodding to himself, Even concluded that this blue was the perfect shade. It had only taken four attempts.

Even made to pick up the paintbrush and complete the base coat when he froze as the front door opened. Remaining motionless, a quick enquiry played out in his mind. It was someone with keys. Sonja and the kids had left three hours ago, after a morning of waffles and an impromptu flour and food colouring art session on the kitchen table. It shouldn’t be them unless something was wrong—a breakdown or flat tyre. Surely Sonja would have called, in that case, and asked him to drive and meet them. Via a process of elimination, it could only be one person—logically. 

The conclusion had only just been reached as he arrived at the stairs, and made it down halfway before his logic and hope was rewarded. The silence should have given it away. 

Sinking down to sit on a midway step, he watched as Isak unravelled his scarf while his headphone sat on top of his head. The wind had whipped his hair back and forth on the journey, making it a fluffy, gorgeous mess. His cheeks were red—from the cold or cycling, and he was humming along to whatever was playing. Even suspected it would not be Gabrielle, going by their previous debates. One shoe was pushed off at the heel with his toe, then the other. 

Isak had no idea he was being watched and Even wasn’t entirely sure how to let his presence be felt. Whether or not he wanted this short spell to end was another thing entirely; the relief at simply seeing Isak after what felt like a year was overwhelming. Even’s heart thudded in his chest loud enough that he was sure it could be heard over the blaring music. 

And, just as Even’s heart made its thudding way to his suddenly tight throat, Isak looked at him and became completely still with his zip halfway undone. The impasse wasn’t uncomfortable, despite the lack of air in Even’s paralysed lungs, but it was pregnant with comfort, like plunging into warm water after a long hike in the cold. Isak quickly pushed the headphones from his ears. 

“I didn’t know—” he said, flushing. “I thought... Uni—it’s noisy. And Sonja said about staying if it’s bad. There’s a party in my corridor. I just didn’t think you’d—I _was_ gonna text. I just didn’t—” he gave up on his stop-and-start explanation with an exasperated eye roll. Even was grinning. Apparently, it was impossible to stop the reactions that enveloped his entirety because it felt just too damn good to see Isak—to hear him. 

Shrugging, Even managed to collect some words and string them together for a response. “It’s OK. Best surprise I’ve had in a while.” 

Isak shook his head, but his own lips were compelled into a lopsided smile. His coat was undone and hung with his scarf. “I wanted to mention it when we were talking the other night, but I wasn't sure if Sonja had told you about going away and I didn’t want to wade into that and be a go-between.” 

Perhaps it should have irritated him, Sonja discussing going away with Isak before she’d spoken to him. But Even couldn’t get stuck on the negative, not while Isak was standing at arm’s length from him. He could understand why Isak wouldn’t have wanted to say anything given the circumstance. But he _had_ wanted to mention it, for other reasons than to pass on information. That fact seemed more important than anything else, according to his heart—rapidly expanding with warmth. “You _were_ gonna tell me then?”

Isak licked his lips. “Not to—not to be _together_ here. But if you were free and I was free. I was gonna say we could hang out. You know?” Isak wiped his palms over his tummy, flattening his shirt as Even cocked his head to one side, simply content just to stare at him. “ _Stop it_.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I have two heads or something.”

“You do.”

Another eye roll. “Oh for fuck’s sake. I was gonna study. I guess that’s out of the window.” But for his protests, Isak didn’t look put off by the prospect of being distracted.

Even held his hands up—a gesture of peace and good intention. “I’m not going to try and stop you.”

A reply was attempted but it spluttered, becoming an incoherent snort. “Yeah, well, I mean you’re _here_. That’s enough.” 

He supposed he should feel bad about that, being a distraction simply because he was near, but he didn’t. “I will keep to my realm if it helps.” 

“Realm?”

“I’m painting in Chris’s room.” 

“Redecorating?”

Even shrugged. “Kinda. She requested a mural, so like the dutiful magical dad I am, I’m painting on my day off from painting.” 

With normal conversation resuming, Isak seemed to unravel a little, relaxing into their normal back and forth. “Can I see?”

“Don’t you have to study?” 

“It’ll take two seconds.” 

There were a plethora of dirty jokes Even could make at this point, about things not taking all that long, but he decided now was perhaps not the time—especially as Isak narrowed his eyes, seemingly preempting the comment. “OK, by all means. But I only just started so It’s not much.” 

Isak reached the bottom step. “I’m sure that’s not true.” 

As much as Even wanted nothing more than to stay where he sat, waiting for Isak to draw near before pulling him in for a kiss, that would be pushing Isak’s clearly stated boundaries. So, Even stood and turned, leading the way they both knew very well. The last time they were both here he’d almost broken his neck running down the stairs to escape a towel-clad Isak. The thought made the muscles in his stomach tighten simply because of the memories that followed. And the fact Isak had ended up having a second shower not long after that… 

“I’ve just sketched the outline,” he stated, trying to push the thoughts away and ground himself. They _could_ be civilised; they would share the same space without making things difficult or uneasy. He grabbed the paintbrush and tray that held the correct paint mix in it for the sky. If he focussed on the base coat while Isak examined his handiwork that would keep both his mind and hands occupied. 

“Wow,” Isak mused, peering at the outline of the Holly Queen first before moving to the other figure. His finger reached out to trace the profile of the nose of Dandelion Elf, before sending a sideways glance Even’s way. 

“It’s exactly what she asked for, I copied it from the book over there,” he motioned towards the open flower fairy book before pressing the brush to the wall and making long strokes up and down to spread the paint evenly. 

“You did a good job. Although I think the nose is too pointy on him.”

Even hummed, it was a noise that didn’t mean compliance or disagreement. “I was inspired.”

A snort of amusement came from Isak. Even tried to focus on what he was doing and not give in to the need to stare at Isak and watch the small expressions he made when he spoke, or laughed, or when he was pretending not to be flattered. And he was probably right; just being around each other wasn’t conducive to a productive environment. Even’s body temperature had already started to rise. 

“I do not have a pointy nose—what is it with you and Chris?” 

"Maybe it was a _different_ elf that inspired me."

Now it was Isak’s turn to hum. “Another elf, huh? Are you telling me I have competition?” 

Quirking his eyebrows Even glanced in Isak’s direction. “I just can’t help myself around magical beings.” Dipping the paintbrush back in the tray he held in his left hand, Even began his long slow strokes again. His hands _really_ needed to be busy. But it left him undefended when Isak’s arm shot out, a finger catching him in the side—specifically the one weak spot for tickles that Isak had managed to find last weekend. 

Letting out a yelp, Even struggled to keep his balance _and_ control of the things he held. The tray tipped before he could adjust, paint spilling over the lip and onto his shirt. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to,” Isak said, words rushed in his apology. “Sorry.” A hand was held out hesitantly towards Even before it was withdrawn. So he was fighting it, too?

“It’s OK. It’s not like this are my best clothes,” Even said voice smooth, trying to soothe Isak’s timorous behaviour. Placing the tray on the dust sheet, Even examined the mess. It was only the shirt that had been soiled—it was an old one besides. Without thinking of the consequence he gripped the hem rolling the material over the wet paint before tugging it off over his head. “I can get another,” he added, voice muffled for the cotton. With a quick glance over his bared stomach, Even noted no paint had transferred to his skin—that made clean up a little easier. But it was a small, strangled sound that redirected his attention. 

Isak eyes were glued to the paint tray at his feet, face completely red with his mouth open while unintelligible noises escaped. Is this what Even had looked like when their situations had been reversed and it was Isak bare and standing in a towel? It wasn’t hard to imagine himself exuding the exact same flailing behaviour. Part of him wanted to wallow in smugness, but the larger part didn’t want to make Isak uncomfortable. It’d happened just once but he’d promised never to repeat that mistake. “And I’ll go find one,” Even announced in a deceptively confident voice before turning on his heel and making his way out of the room. 

Tossing the shirt in the laundry basket in the hall, Even began to curse himself for being so thoughtless. He really should have known, having been on the other side of that scenario, that it probably wasn’t a fun idea—for either of them. Had Isak felt bad? When he’d come to Even after, with his soft words and touch, it had felt that way… 

“ _Even_ ,”

His thoughts stopped dead in time with his feet. Turning back, he found Isak in the doorway to Chris’s room, shifting from one foot to the other, his mouth opening and closing. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…,” he trailed off as Isak shook his head. While he waited for thoughts to be verbalised, Even made a feeble attempt to cover himself with his hands. Yet _good_ and _proper_ evaporated as Isak began walking to him. His gaze unconcerned with the skin Even tried to hide, they were instead latched firmly to his face. 

“I missed you,” Isak said, voice strained. The statement was simple but the timbre of it spoke of a sentiment that was a hundred times stronger. Even understood that; he felt the weight of it all—of them, their feelings and needs. But the ability to communicate verbally was slipping from his grasp as Isak moved closer. 

“Me too,” he mumbled through numb lips, unsure what to do in the quandary of wants and best practise. “I should get a shirt.”

Isak’s toes met his. “Should you?” he peered up at Even, breathless for the few meters he’d covered in hesitant steps. 

Whatever he’d asked was beyond Even’s comprehension. What had they been talking about? All Even knew was that Isak’s mouth was right there, just below his, and getting closer as his chin was tilting up. And there was a wall at his back. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” Even’s words ran into each other in the rush to be free of his mouth in their rough and raw form. All he could see was Isak, all he could breathe was Isak, his taste already danced across Even’s taste buds. 

The daze was interrupted momentarily by a smirk pulling at Isak’s lips, evidently pleased that he was not the only one so easily off-balance, effortlessly distracted, and deftly tempted. Really, he _should_ have seen that the second he’d noticed Even watching him from the stairs, not ten minutes ago. Isak walked into the room and nothing else existed. It was just the effect he had. Even was powerless to do anything in their gravitational pull, but he was entirely sure he would forever be intoxicated on bliss, rotating and spinning around this man that stood in front of him. And he would have absolutely no regrets over the love they shared—however they did it.

Then Isak wound his arms around Even’s neck, their bodies pulling close. Smugness left behind and eyes heavy-lidded, he whispered, “just kiss me then.” 

Comfort engulfed Even like a thick blanket on a winter night as his hands reacquainted themselves with Isak’s waist—his body _was_ home. Palms searched Isak’s back, and every muscle gave so easily under Even’s touch as he pulled them closer. How had he survived the last week without _this_? “I can do that,” he muttered, so close to Isak’s mouth their lips brushed as they spoke. The moment Isak’s eyes closed, lips parting in expectation, Even savoured it before he did as he was told. 

Taking Isak’s lips, he stole the small sigh that slipped from them, quickly replacing it with his tongue as it slid alongside Isak’s. Fingers raked through his hair, fingertips massaged his scalp; Isak’s touch was always perfect. Instinctively he would trace the sensitive parts with a cooling pressure that sent goosebumps skittering over Even’s flesh. Then there were their addictive kisses. Sometimes Isak would let him take, demand, and control. Right up until the point he’d decide it was time to win, the control would easily slip from Even’s grasp to Isak’s. 

They kissed until Isak’s head dropped back, a soft groan making itself known as Even’s thumbs bookended the corners of his mouth. “Baby…,” he whined. 

“I’m right here.” 

Isak’s chest shuddered as he inhaled, his hands running down over Even’s neck and flowing over his chest. “Should we?” He whispered the words into hair because Even’s mouth had reached his jaw, kissing below his ear. 

“Still no fucking clue what you’re talking about.” Isak snickered before it caught on another quiet moan. All the same, Even pulled back to look at him, knowing the same inebriated expression was on his own face. “Somewhere, in another universe, you’re studying and I’m painting a mural.” 

Isak smiled, it was soft and gone and if Even didn’t already know he would absolutely do anything for this man, the point was hammered home with his spring green and desirous gaze. “Maybe in another universe we’re married already.” 

“ _Already_? Is this a proposal?” 

A small rueful headshake came before a sigh. “What do we do in _this_ universe?” 

Even scanned Isak’s face, drinking in the details he found, much like his fingers did as they danced down Isak’s back to the small expanse of skin that could be found between jeans and t-shirt. “I’ve already decided I’m not an expert on right and wrong anymore. Don’t ask me for moral guidance baby. I can keep to your boundaries, but I just want your love—any of it that you want to give.”

Closing his eyes, Isak wasn’t perturbed by the words, just eased into the moment somehow. He swallowed thickly before he spoke again, as Even hands found their way back to his neck, cupping his face. “Guestroom?” 

“Whatever you say—whatever you _want_...” 

"I want _you_ ," he muttered, a pinch of impatience in his voice before he extinguished it on Even's mouth, pulling him from the wall, leading him by the hips as he guided the way with backwards steps.

What could Even do but follow? Chase the kisses and bring his body as close as possible to the butterfly touches that skittered and jumped, from one point to another, fingertips just as impatient as their master. By the time the door swung open, and they stumbled across the room that Even—as of a minute ago—referred to as no-man's-land, their hands were busy unfastening buttons and zips. 

The guestroom was cream, stark but comfortable. All they needed was each other to furnish the space, and yet the bed was a welcomed prop, Even decided, falling onto it, laughing between kisses. He pushed beneath Isak's shirt as Isak's palms slid beneath his trousers, fingers splaying over his ass before they tightened in a firm grip. Paired with the pressure from Isak’s undulating body beneath him, reacting to the touch creeping over his stomach, Even let out a throaty groan. 

There were so many things that he wanted to do because Isak inspired so much passion in him. It was impossible to know where to start, or how for that matter, as he’d demonstrated so clearly last week. Isak seemed to naturally know how things should work, move, evolve. It was tempting to let him take control again. 

And yet… 

Yet his body didn't seem to want to relinquish control, not now Isak had tugged them in here and pulled Even down on top of him. All he wanted was to watch Isak come apart—over and over. The colour his skin flushed, the shape his lips formed as he moaned, his eyelashes fanning over his cheeks when his eyes squeezed shut tight, the noises that emerged from his chest, the way he clung to Even like they were drowning and it was his last earth-shattering moment in this realm. To see so clearly how much he moved Isak mirrored reassurance back to him. Even's emotions were identical and his insatiable hunger to experience the evidence of this would never be satisfied. 

The shirt was gone, his fingers grappled with the waistband of Isak's jeans while Isak raked patterns up his bareback, always coming to rest at his neck, fingers pushing into his hair—gripping and releasing in sync to the short, ragged breaths that broke their kisses. Despite the sweetness that came with Isak’s mouth, Even pushed up, away from his body, tugging the jeans down over slender hips that wriggled in assistance, while Isak yanked insistently at the waistband of Even’s trousers. 

With a little effort and more stuttered giggles, they were bare. Bodies pulled flush—as close as they could get while mouths were drawn back together like magnets. Isak moved beneath him, rolling like a wave, rocking his hips up against Even. The friction urged a grunt to bubble to the surface. 

"Fuck, Isak." The words were fed into the mouth below his—those dangerous lips parted and waiting—for anything, _everything_. Even straddled him, gaining stability—and more control. 

“What are we doing?” The words rush from Isak’s mouth, hot and desperate.

“I don’t fucking know. This was your idea.”

“It was?” 

Humming against Isak’s throat, Even’s hand moved down between them. “Pretty sure, but I’m not about to gamble on it.”

Isak snickered before it was cut off abruptly. Fingers encircling both their cocks, Even began to stroke them together. It was mind-blowing how unsure he could be and yet how easily this came to him; Isak felt both new and as comfortable as a ten-year habit beneath his palm. It was simple and astounding at the same time. An essential as well as a luxury. Every which way he tried to describe them together seemed like a contradiction, but love didn't need to make sense. 

With every pass his hand made, every time their heads were palmed and caressed, the air thinned. It was dizzying being here, on top of the world. The noises they made heightened, one building upon the last. Even could almost taste the crescendo yet he wanted to keep it at bay—let the momentum build until they were powerless to do anything other than let it wash over them. 

Leaning forward, Even searched for Isak’s mouth again while his free hand scrambled across carpet fibres, searching for something he knew was there, behind a shoebox. Something he _knew_ would bring questions. Easing back and staring down on a red-faced, panting Isak, Even tried to open the bottle single-handed. A few moments passed before what he was doing became clear, it was marked with an amused grunt. 

“Where the fuck did that come from?”

Even shrugged, trying to look as casual as possible despite the heat he felt building in his cheeks that had nothing to do with foreplay. “I don’t know. Must have left it there.”

“You provide lube for your guests? That’s… _very_ accomodating.”

Biting his lip, Even’s gaze flittered from the bottle to Isak’s face; he was entertained and not at all buying the explanation. “OK, I _may_ have… thought about this before. So, I _might_ have prepared—on the off chance…” 

“You thought about us? Being _here_? And hid that?”

“More like a fantasy. Before we kissed. Before camping.” And it was more strategically placed than hiding, but he wasn’t about to argue that point now. 

Isak’s eyebrows rose at that. “You did?” Even nodded. “I _may_ have done the same.”

As much as that statement begged questions and details, his focus wouldn't budge from his hand, and the lube, and Isak’s cock… “We can compare notes later,” he replied, dropping the bottle to the bed before he began lubing Isak up.

Isak frowned through the pleasure. “What are you—” The question was cut off. An impatient groan taking command of his mouth. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” He thought it looked fairly obvious from either perspective. 

“But you can’t just—”

“Why not?” 

Isak grunted, shaking his head before his eyes rolled closed. But his hands were busy, searching the sheets before grabbing the bottle and, before Even could contest, one hand very firmly guided him down by the nape, towards Isak’s beckoning mouth, while the other moved over his hip and snaked its way over his ass. “You don’t need to—”

“Shush,” Isak stated before closing the order with a kiss. But there weren’t any words of protest left once his fingers began to move over Even in rhythm to the stroking. He was left making involuntary and needy noises into Isak’s mouth. 

Last week, they hadn’t stopped kissing and touching, completely at ease with experimenting and fully trusting in what the other desired to do. Yet Even had wanted to do more, despite lack of experience; a cock was nothing like a toy or fingers. Isak had done things that had shattered every record set with pleasure in his life. Even needed to be on equal footing and when Isak had settled in his lap, fingers splayed over his chest, before riding him… _that_ had been heaven. A heavenly experience he wanted to repay.

It didn’t take long before Isak pushed inside of him, one finger easily becoming two, doing his best to ease and stimulate. Even’s body reacted instinctively, back arching and hips moving in time, all the while Isak’s tongue dominated his, teeth nipping at lazy lips when Even was too stupefied to kiss back. Greediness built as Isak’s fingers became bolder and firm, making space for himself, yet they curved seeking a spot they’d become familiar with last week. As skilled as he was, Even was left longing for more. The breaking point of patience was imminent. 

With a moan, Even moved forward. Reading his intent, Isak moved both hands over Even’s thighs, their attention soft, massaging muscle before inching higher. His palms came to rest on Even’s ass as he rose, grip snug and reassuring—encouraging each movement. 

Guided Isak’s cock over sensitive skin, Even teased them both rocking his hips back and forth. It was the pleading face looking up to him that spurred him on. Bearing down, Even kept his breathing steady and paced as he inched further, taking Isak a centimetre at a time. The sensation was still overwhelming, new and shocking, but Isak’s expression of panicked bliss superseded it all. His grip on Even tightened, in support or persuasion—both perhaps. 

The position of power had switched once more, as Isak lay dazed with his eyes wide and aware, watching as Even’s motions became fluid and easy. He was obviously trying to talk but the words weren’t strong enough to become anything more than stuttered groans. Even couldn’t help but smirk. Is this how he looked beneath Isak? Or over him for that matter. It was a true picture for how he felt when their positions were switched and he was inside of Isak—deeply secured in euphoria. 

There was something else when Isak had been on top, he’d moved to chase his own pleasure. Searching for hands that were running the length of his thighs, Even caught and turned them, urged to where Isak’s head pushed back into the pillow before flattening them to the bed—palm to palm. Fingers curled around his fiercely. Even began to ease into the sensation his grinding movements brought as he leaned forward to find Isak’s neck, laying beautifully useless beneath him. His teeth teased skin quickly that he quickly soothed with kisses, listening to the moans that vibrated deep in Isak’s chest. They were answered by Even’s own as a deep and sweet ache began to swell. 

Gratification rose, stronger with every wave, breath, and beat. The well-meaning smugness that Even bathed in was quick to change; currents quickly turned, pulling him under as Isak’s hips began to move with his, body curved to meet and connect with Even in minute thrusts. There was no demand in the action, just a need to further and deepen the bond, to lose themselves in each other wholeheartedly and without reserve. 

Had Even moved like this when he was in Isak’s shoes? Had he instinctively provoked the sensitivity being coaxed in him now? Because the ache he felt was intensifying as it spread, and it was demanding—screaming for release. As their movements had become seamless before, Isak had come so easily over him. Right here and now Even’s cock was heavy and leaking. He was more than ready but was Isak? 

As if in answer, Isak cursed as his hand slipped free from Even’s pinning palm. It groped between them, finding Even. Softness curved around rigid flesh as Isak began to jerk him off. Maybe when they had built up a resistance to each others chemistry, when Even could last a little longer than five minutes, he would chastise Isak. Even would pull his hand away and press it back down, hard into the damp sheets while he would demand Isak’s orgasm. He wanted to see Isak mindless and uncoiling, climaxing and helpless under Even’s weight. 

Those fantasies would have to wait. 

“Fuck, Isak,” his voice was harsh in his ears but all it did was provoke another groan from Isak. His gaze flitted from Even’s face, to where his hand worked, then lower to the point their bodies met before his eyes rolled closed. 

“Baby, I’m—”

“Me too.”

Just like the current changing, the smooth flow of their bodies became turbulent. Breathing as irregular and jagged as their hips grinding together. Yearning overpowered any control either them wished to grasp, all except the firm hold of Isak’s clever hand on Even’s cock. 

And it was with one last twist that Even gave, crumbling to the towering waves. Strong and compelling, they crashed onto his skin, his body becoming too heavy under the weight of forceful bliss. The only thing he was aware of, except the black behind his eyelids and the white fever pulled from him, was Isak’s chest beneath his own, a rapid pulse at his mouth as his lips pushed to Isak’s throat. Fingers held him firm, digging into his ass cheeks as Isak pushed up into him once more. His body shook as he came, cock pulsing deep inside of Even. The groans didn’t cease from either as their orgasms ebbed away, subsiding and leaving Even weak and tingling. Only when heavy breaths became the priority did they both still, every muscle undone, every fibre satisfied. 

Even hummed in satisfaction against Isak’s throat as soothing patterns were drawn over his back. A soft chuckle rushed across his bare, sweaty damp skin. Even could feel the words coming before they were free, a tear escaped his closed eyes in anticipation.

“I love you, Even.”

He held as tightly to Isak as his mind was trying to grasp hold of the moment. Those words and the immense feelings they evoked, said aloud and into the same air that would fill Even’s lungs—not stated over the phone or in a message but here and now, punctuated by a soft kiss against his temple.

It would be worth it, whatever they had to do to come out of this together. 

It _would_. 


	23. Piece Of Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I saw this poster that said: One boyfriend required for a Mr Even Bech Næsheim—must make him feel good every single moment of every single day.”
> 
> “So you applied?”
> 
> “Of course I did. I thought holy fuck he’s hot—” The temptation was irresistible. Even inched forward, pushing his mouth to Isak’s and cutting him off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were due this <3
> 
> Also, I hope you are all well, babies <3 my love is with you all, wherever you are...

### Piece of Pie

“You know there’s a dishwasher right there?”

Isak blew a strand of hair from his eyes. Elbow deep in sudsy water, he searched for stray cutlery lurking at the bottom of the bowl. “I don’t trust it.”

Even snorted. “What’s not to trust?”

“I just think it’s easier to do it like this. And probably cleaner. Doesn’t that just blast germs and dirt around for an hour?”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Well, I still think I can do a better job.” 

“I don’t doubt you can, but you’re giving yourself more work—”

“I’m _helping_ .” Isak asserted, sending a sideways glance Even’s way, standing close as he worked over the stove. He wanted to help in any way possible because Even seemed to want to stuff him with food at every opportunity. And it was _good_ food at that—exceptional, to be accurate. This was the least he could do. “So, what are you making now anyway?” They’d just finished a late but over-compensating breakfast. Isak was sure if he ate anymore his sides would split. But curiosity piqued at the bowl Even held. He’d observed it being methodically filled, one ingredient at a time, with sugar and flour, eggs, and now sliced apples. The sure stirring applied made a thick mix. 

“Apple pie—for later.” 

Isak hummed in anticipation. “I’ll be a little soft and round by the end of the week.”

There was a snicker of laughter before Even responded. “Not with the number of calories you’ve been burning, with cycling to Uni and…”

“ _And_?” Isak raised an eyebrow.

“And… all the washing up you’ve been doing.”

Isak chuckled as he shook his head. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“Me neither.” Even agreed, mirth clear in his tone. He inhaled as if to add something more, words dancing on his tongue while the mix was coaxed on to a greased pie pan, but a noise stalled them. It was a familiar noise and one that hadn’t gone unnoticed over the last few days. 

Gaze skating to the dining table, Isak found his phone screen lit up. Sound off, the vibrations were what made its annoyance at being neglected clear. Isak could feel Even’s questioning eyes on him. “You sure you're not gonna answer? That’s twice today. And twice yesterday. It could be important,” he mused, seemingly engrossed in his work. 

Isak returned his focus to the water beneath his nose, shaking his head. “If it’s important she’d leave a message.”

There was a pause, he could feel Even’s brain delicately shaping the questions he wanted to ask. “Your mum?” Since their camping trip, and Christina’s impromptu conversation with her, Isak hadn’t been shy about how often he spoke with his mum. It would be clear to Even by now that she really was the only important person in his life. 

“Yup.” 

“And,” he cleared his throat, taking his time so as not to sound confrontational. Isak knew he wasn’t trying to pry, it was just very obvious that there was an air of avoidance when it came to the calls. It was nice to feel Even’s concern, not simply knowing Isak enough to feel it was a worrisome anomaly but also to address it in the soft and caring manner he approach problems. “Why don’t you wanna answer?”

His cheeks were warm and it had nothing to do with the heat of the oven or the washing up water. A sigh escaped his lips before the answer tumbled out. “It’s just… she _knows_ me. You know? She just knows stuff, and if I’m here with you… Well, she’ll _know_. It’s like a superpower.”

“What does she know?” And the casualness present in the question wasn’t feigned. Isak felt that Even wouldn’t mind whatever information had been confided to her.

“Of course she knows _about_ you, just not—”

“Just not what’s going on?” 

“Well, no… and yes.”

Even laughed again, it eased Isak’s tension. “No and yes?”

“As I said, she’s got this superpower. And, apart from you now, she’s the only person I talk to about… _things_. I guess she’s good at reading between the lines.”

There was a sound that spoke of understanding. “She knows you _like_ me?'' he teased.

Isak huffed indignantly. “Not just that. She knows there's… _potential_ .” Even repeated the word as a question. “Potential—in her mind—for me to hurt myself. She was on to me last week; she _knew_ something happened. I lied when she asked outright. I know you’re not gonna hurt me, but she doesn’t know you. All she can see is a very messy scenario,” he paused before adding in a lower tone, “I already put her through too much.”

“That’s understandable. I’d be worried, too. I guess there’s a lot I need to make up to her when we meet.” 

He glanced over his shoulder to find Even staring right back with a soft smile. A nervous laugh bubbled from Isak’s throat. “You don’t have to—” he cut off as the oven door was shut. Isak wasn’t exactly sure how to end that sentence because he _did_ want familiar contact between the two most important people in his life. Yet he didn’t want to push for something Even wasn’t ready for, not when things were so precarious. 

But Even _wanted_ to meet his mum? 

Footsteps drew close. Isak closed his eyes as arms enveloped him, Even’s body pulling flush to his back. The sigh of relief that hailed down on his neck was a shared notion. “Baby I _want_ to. I want to be a part of your life. I want to know the woman who raised you, and the sister you desperately try to prove you don’t have time for. I want to be _with_ you—in every way.” A small kernel of opposition urged to fight Even’s words regarding Lea; it sounded like he doubted Isak’s claims that he had no time for her nonsense. But resistance slipped between his fingers as lips landed softly on his neck.

He couldn’t resist the pull, to turn his face and feel the softness of Even’s hair against his cheek. Was he ever going to stop trembling when they were close? He hoped not. It wasn’t the first time Even had said these words, perhaps in a different order but the sentiment was still the same. It was just hard for Isak to believe it. _This_ felt perfect and that concept had long since been discarded before Isak had even developed romantic feelings towards his first misplaced crush. “You do?” his answer was a dazed whisper. 

“What do I have to do to prove it?” Even murmured between the kisses that made a tortuously slow path to Isak’s ear. 

Licking his lips, the question was deliberated over. “How long is the pie in the oven?” 

A thoughtful pause separated one kiss from the next before an answer was given, Even’s tone deep as he caught the notion Isak was toying with. “Thirty minutes.”

Isak hummed contentedly, or perhaps conspiratorially. “I’m sure there’s something that can be done in thirty minutes that might prove it.” The grip on Isak’s hips turned him, then Even’s body was pressed to his—chest to chest. Wet and sudsy hands hung over Even’s shoulders, dripping onto the tiles, as Isak looked up at him. His lids became heavy as a well-acquainted desirous fog swiftly settled around them, mouth already tasting kisses soaked in passion and salt. 

“Deal.”

* * *

His fingertips traced Isak’s spine. 

Even marvelled at every single flex and undulation of his muscles underneath the shimmering pink of hot flushed skin. He could get lost sometimes; the wonder that was Isak overwhelmed him. The fact that this sweet, loving being would let him come close: to kiss, to feel, to be _inside_ of his body and within his heart. 

Despite the evidence that was mounting with each moment they spent together—especially in _this_ moment as Isak bit the pillow beneath his mouth and Even knelt behind him—he still couldn’t quite believe that this was his to keep. 

_No_ , this was _theirs_ to keep, nurture, and marvel at in its effortless bloom.

Those bubbles of awe had to burst but they always did so in the most pleasant way imaginable, with Isak’s green eyes flashing impatience as he gazed over his shoulder. Cheeks rosy, hair damp, and tremors that vibrated beneath the skin he touched, Even’s palm soothed Isak’s neck. The questioning stare wasn’t enough for him to snap out of his reverie and move again, continue to thrust and drive Isak to climax... 

How was it possible to be so close—so _intimate_ —yet still yearn for more?

“Baby, don’t stop,” Isak urged. There was an edge to his tone, an edge that Even adored. It clearly threatened their circumstances would very well _literally_ flip if he didn’t do as he was told. 

“I won’t,” he murmured, still dazed— _always_ dazed by Isak. “You just look so beautiful.” Thoughts bypassed his brain when it came to Isak. He never analysed the sentiments that wanted to be aired, never worried how they would sound fully formed. The words just came. And he needn’t have worried because the things he said when they were together—bare and enthralled with the other’s body—never caused a frown or pulled Isak from bliss, they only ever deepened it. 

This time Even’s words coaxed a whimper as Isak’s eyes closed, eyebrows drawn together in pleasure that seemed to burn. He knew that expression. One hand had a white knuckle grip on the cotton sheets, the other reached back, fingers blindly feeling for Even’s hip in erratic encouragement. 

Even didn’t need any encouragement. His slow, arduous motion began to pick up pace until the sweat-slick skin of his hips made an addictively indecent sound when their bodies connected. The thrusts forced broken sobs from Isak—he’d already found that quiet place where the only thing to be sensed was rapture. This was partly due to Even putting his mouth on Isak until he was only capable of writhing and whimpering. He’d begged for Even to: _hurry the fuck up and fuck me already._ The simple memory of those words caused his pace to stutter. 

One hand caressed and gripped Isak’s ass cheek while the other slipped around his waist, palm gliding over Isak’s taut trembling abdomen before Even grasped the base of his cock. The contact caused him to jolt, body spasming instantly and bucking hard against him. There wasn’t much he had power over, watching Isak fuck back so eagerly. Even grunted, cock forced deep by Isak’s motions as he came hard and unexpectedly, hand continuing to work Isak’s cock in jerky motions. And Isak broke seconds later, come spurting out over the knuckles that held him firmly. Even pushed against him, needing to be as lost inside Isak as their bodies allowed, and rocked through their frenzied orgasms. 

“ _God-fucking-damn,_ ” Even breathed heavily, releasing Isak’s limp cock and leaning over him. He pushed kisses to Isak’s shoulder as their bodies crumpled, sinking into the mattress—entirely lax and satisfied. 

Isak’s eyes were closed, deep in the hushed space he seemed to get so lost in. Even used his body as a cover, and traced soothing patterns over his back, muttering words of praise that Even barely registered. “You’re so beautiful, baby— _my_ baby.” He pushed a kiss to Isak’s hot cheek, adoring the way his lips pulled up into a subconscious and tremulous smile. 

Hand reaching to grip Even’s wandering fingers, Isak pulling them firmly and commanded the arm that followed to fold around his waist. Even had no choice but to be the big spoon—not that he was complaining. “You can talk,” he mused in a hoarse whisper. 

“I can, and that’s very observant for you in this state.”

A warning green flashed as Isak’s eyes fluttered open, his eyebrows raised in challenge as he snorted. It was half-hearted but it still made Even grin. “I’ll put you in a state in a minute.”

“Don’t tease me.” 

Isak shook his head, the smile now rueful. “You’re the fucking beautiful one,” he stated. 

“ _What_?”

“You heard, Mr Model.”

Even snorted in disagreement. “I’m _not_ a fucking model.”

“My mum thinks you look like James Dean.”

A considerable pause passed while Even processed that. “How does she know what I look like?”

Isak shrugged, trying and failing to hide a grin. “I described you to her.”

“And you described me like James Dean?”

“OK, _I_ think you look like James Dean. Either way, you're hot. And beautiful. And fucking amazing, I get a hard-on just looking at you.”

Even choked on his laughter but the praise left him sputtering, unsure what to say. He felt the same tremulous smile Isak had worn as the same heat flushed his face. There was nothing else for him to do but duck his head and kiss along Isak’s collar bone. The gentle hum of appreciation that those kisses coaxed made Even’s toes curl. “You make me feel so good about myself,” he admitted in a quiet voice, mouth close to Isak’s ear. 

The gaze that found him then, as Isak turned to him, was tender. His eyes were full of emotions that connected to Even, mirroring his feelings and fears; Isak knew how much that meant and how true it was. When he looked at him Even _did_ feel desired, loved, wanted—with heat and passion. To deny it would be to call Isak a liar, and Isak could never be that. 

Even’s cheek was cupped gently. “You deserve to feel that way—every single day.”

“I do?” Even was only half focused on the response he gave. Isak’s lips hypnotised him when they were so near...

“You do. And now it’s my job.”

“It is?” he asked, amusement lilting his voice.

Isak nodded in assurance, his fingertips dancing along Even’s shoulder. “It is. I saw this poster that said: _One boyfriend required for a Mr Even Bech Næsheim—must make him feel good every single moment of every single day_.”

“So you applied?”

“Of course I did. I thought holy fuck he’s hot—” The temptation was irresistible. Even inched forward, pushing his mouth to Isak’s and cutting him off. 

Isak twisted in his arms, turning to him, body curling around Even possessively and pulling close despite the sweat and mess they’d made. The kiss left them breathless, panting against the other’s mouth. Chin tilting up and a glint in his eyes spoke of a sharp addition to his sentence that would no doubt force a laugh from Even. 

Instead of words, there was a noise that had become very prominent in the last few days: a phone vibrating—only once this time. Isak hadn’t called his mum back yet, after they’d spoken about it yesterday. There had been two more phone calls since.

“I _will_ call her, you know. I’m sure I can do a good enough Isak impression by now.”

Shaking his head, Isak looked up and over his shoulder, reaching out to grab his phone from the bedside table. “I messaged her, it should be fine.”

Even tsked him. “Messaging your worrying mum? Am I gonna have to grovel for both of us?”

Isak’s reply was delayed as he read and then re-read the text. The phone was returned to its spot, a slight frown marred his brow while he spoke. “You don’t have to grovel, you could charm someone in your sleep.” 

A disbelieving snicker quieted as Even waited. He raised a questioning eyebrow when Isak only stared back like he _wasn’t_ going to share whatever had caused him to read the message twice. “So?” 

“So?”

“So, what did she say?”

“She’s fine—like I said,” he impressed before worrying his lip. Reaching behind Even, he yanked at the duvet, wrapping it around them. Even watched with fascination as Isak fidgeted, buying himself time to decide how to say whatever was coming. “Apparently there’s some stupid reunion thing—at my old school. Eva—you know my best friend? Or ex-best friend—she called around, asking if I would go.” He left off with a tight smile that tried desperately to say that none of this had bothered him at all and he was _not_ going to spend one moment overthinking it. 

Even knew it was wishful thinking. “And?”

Blinking, Isak tried to play off a confused expression, as if he had no idea what Even was getting at. “And what?”

“How do you feel about that? Do you wanna go?”

Isak snorted, shaking his head with a little too much enthusiasm. “No. Why would I wanna go to that? It’s not like I left there on good terms with anyone.” 

Taking a moment to push a stray curl behind the shell of Isak’s ear, Even made his tone as mellow as possible. “Maybe that’s exactly why you might wanna go.”

Swallowing, Isak shook his head again, this time hesitantly. “No. No. I wouldn’t know what to say to anyone, and—no. I _can’t_.” Even made a hushing sound, frowning as he saw panic spread over Isak’s features at the thought of attending. 

“It’s OK, baby. No one is going to make you go.”

“I know,” Isak muttered, already introspective and analysing his defensiveness. The memories were close to the surface, beneath his scar tissue. It must be perplexing to have a best friend, thought to be lost forever because of a hurt you inflicted, ask after you. Wide eyes looked to him, and Even wanted nothing more than to wrap himself even tighter around Isak in protection against everything the world might throw at him. Whatever came from this, Isak wouldn’t face it alone. 

“But if you decide to try it, you know you can’t go without me.” 

That teased a smile from the turmoil. “You’d come?” 

However much he had to work to prove to Isak that he wanted to face the world at his side, Even would do it with no complaints. Resting his palm against Isak’s cheek, Even held his gaze, thumb mindlessly toying at the corner of his mouth. 

“I’d go anywhere with you.” 

* * *

Isak hesitated, staring at his phone where it lay on the bed until the screen went black. It was only then that he let himself feel the slightest touch of relief.

A smile tugged at his lips before the background noise moved to the forefront of his mind. The en-suite shower was running. Even had given him privacy when Isak’s phone had rung with a scheduled call—one he was willing to answer—under the guise of needing to freshen up after finishing the mural in Christina's room. 

The smile became an eager grin as Isak hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down over his hips. Kicking them to one side, he peeled off his t-shirt and added it to the mound. His steps were quick, chased by the cool air nipping at him, coaxing his skin to gooseflesh. The momentary discomfort was eased away when he opened the door and thick steam oozed from the small, cream-tiled room. 

Hugs and light kisses had been exchanged outside the boundaries of the guestroom but nothing more. It was an unspoken rule that they'd both agreed upon without having to air; anything intimate had to wait until the stairs had been climbed and the door was closed. It staved off the guilt easily felt over the domestic atmosphere that naturally wrapped itself around them while they were together here—in this house that belonged to Even and Sonja equally. 

They _would_ have their own space and soon. Isak was already beginning to figure out what his next move needed to be, and he wasn’t sure Even would like it one bit. 

“Close the door, the heat is getting out." Even’s voice came from behind the misty shower glass pane. Focussing on the here and now, Isak quickly shut the door, his shoulders rolling in the warmth the heavy steam provided. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in almost a decade—before his teen years of angst, that was for sure. Sleeping next to Even brought him a sense of peace and belonging that outshone every last problem or issue his brain could conjure. 

Everything was going to be OK.

Everything would be especially wonderful if he got to see the ass he was currently staring at every single day of his life… “Are you done perving, Mr Valtersen?” Even asked, amusement making his words sing. Isak hadn’t noticed that, while he’d been openly gawking, Even had been watching over his shoulder. 

Unable to stop the grin from splitting his face, Isak stepped under the streaming water. “I was just doing an itinerary.”

Even snorted. “An itinerary?”

“Yup: One fine man, a sexy ass, two ridiculously long legs, two strong arms, a beautiful cock…” 

Shaking his head, Even peered down at him as he neared. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“Mostly,” he admitted, tugging Isak closer. “But I’m too curious to be put off—no matter how sweet your compliments are. Or corny? I’m not sure which but I’ll take them either way.” There was a pause while Isak dithered, not knowing where to start. “Are you gonna tell me or do I have to tease the information out of you?”

As tempting as that option sounded, Isak's thoughts aligned. “I have a meeting with the head of department tomorrow. She said that she’s firmly for it but just needs to clear it with the Dean and the admin team. There will be rules and stuff but she’s certain that I’ll get the go-ahead to start in the spring term.” The beaming smile on Even’s face made Isak’s heartache. Having someone deliriously happy with his accomplishments in life was a dream that had seemed untouchable until this—until _them_. 

“I knew they would. You’re so fucking smart, how could they say no? It’s the best idea I bet they’ve heard in years. They wouldn’t fucking dare say no.”

Isak rolled his eyes at the flattery but the exasperation was feigned, wielded to badly hide the bashfulness he felt at Even's unrelenting belief. “Let’s wait until I get the OK tomorrow, _then_ you can call me all the nice things you can think of and… maybe we can celebrate?” 

“That sounds like a plan.” Studying Isak’s face, Even became pensive. “Tomorrow's Friday— kids are back Saturday." Another hesitant pause passed as Even wrestled with a smirk. "Would you let me take you out?”

“Out?” Isak asked, caught off balance but not displeased or uncomfortable with the suggestion. “To where?”

Even shrugged. “Anywhere. We could go to dinner, or maybe the cinema, bowling—” he cut off as Isak began nodding vigorously. He wasn’t going to refuse a date, and that’s what this sounded like. After their almost week together, day in and day out, this seemed like the next obvious step. To be together outside, even if it was somewhere no one knew them, brought a fresh swarm of butterflies to dance in Isak’s stomach. They could hold hands, kiss, be in love in the world. With the next phase of their relationship being so unsure, once normality returned with the kids, Isak knew they needed this. “What do you wanna do then?”

The choice was his? Isak shook his head. “Surprise me.” 

The bright and wide smile that shone for him clearly spoke of the joy Even would take in making plans for them. So Even liked to arrange surprises? “I can do that.” 

“That’s a date then.” As well as the glee the notion brought—they were _dating_ —nerves began to creep up for a reason Isak couldn’t fathom. Perhaps it was the unknown after the cliff-edge that would be Saturday. Despite being so thoroughly sold into what they had, it was still nerve-wracking. What would Sonja want to do when she came back? They still had to talk about their marriage, or more accurately how they would unpick and dissolve it as carefully as possible. 

Even leant closer to him, tilting his head for a kiss. Isak’s fingertips pressed gently to his chest and that was significant enough to give Even pause. “What’s the matter baby?” he cooed the words, content for them to hold each other under the warm, soothing water. 

“I was thinking,” he said slowly, watching the way Even’s face faltered for a fearful moment before the smile he wore was firm once more. “When Sonja gets back I’m going to quit.” 

Even licked his lips before nodding. “OK.” 

“I was thinking about it last week but with her being ill it just didn’t seem right to do, you know?”

He continued to nod, but the nerves were apparently contagious. Isak could feel them spreading through Even. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say?” 

“I have, and with the OK with from Uni it makes things easier,” Isak stated, running headlong into the explanation he’d prepared. “When you do the apprenticeship you get paid—not full apprenticeship pay but enough, because they know on top of uni work, you won’t have the free time to earn, you know? So I’ll have money,” Isak looked up at Even who was patiently waiting. “A-and I think Sonja was thinking about working more from home and being around more, so I don’t think it’ll cause that much of an issue.”

“She mentioned something like that in passing.” His expression was still patient, waiting for the inevitable as he stroked stray, wet hair back from Isak’s forehead.

“It’s not time—to tell her. It wouldn’t be right, not one thing on top of the other. She’d be upset,” that was an understatement, “and you guys have to talk… I don’t want what we have to become part of what you two have to talk over, ” Isak trailed off, watching as Even’s gaze broke away, unsure whether it was relief or disappointment that they wouldn’t just admit it now—damn the consequences. Perhaps it was a measure of both. “Is that OK?”

Strength flowed back into Even with the question, his expression warm and genuine. It filled Isak with every ounce of confidence he needed to believe that everything would be OK. “We have to work within whatever we’re comfortable with. If you want to wait, then we will wait. We won’t be lying to anyone; I’m _not_ living here, me and Sonja aren’t together—you know better than anyone. We can keep it to just us for now,” Even murmured, wetting his lips before adding, “and there’s no right or wrong way to do this, just _this_ option and _that_ one.” 

"OK.” The nerves were lessening, Isak’s relief was building. They had a plan. “And I guess we'll know when the time is right to tell… _everyone._ " It was a question-statement hybrid. Even held his gaze knowing Isak was looking for reassurance, looking to him for it. It was an unfair ask and Isak knew it.

Fair or not, Even eventually nodded. "I'm no expert here but I'm sure the right time will come around." His hands were running up and down Isak's back dragging a flannel. When had he got a flannel?

Isak was nodding to himself. "But, it's not going to be easy. I'll miss them." He did nothing to hide the sorrow he felt at the distance he would be purposefully putting not only between himself and the kids but Sonja, too. 

_Family_ , she'd said—he was a part of the family. 

"We can still make sure we do things with them. And Sonja will be happy to have you over whenever to see them." 

Chewing his lower lip, Isak resisted the urge to state that the point in him quitting was so that he _didn't_ have to be around people he was withholding delicate truths from. Truths that would impact their lives. "We'll see how things go." Despite the rocky ground underfoot, and every option seeming to hold several pitfalls, Isak had to deal with the cards he was dealt with. This was the lowest risk option, or perhaps it was the most selfish and cowardly one. It was hard to take know anymore. 

"I think that's all we can do. I'm sure I'll find an apartment soon—that'll help." 

That thought brought back a smile. A new place, fresh beginnings. "It will." 

The flannel was now being worked over his chest. Somehow Even had slathered it with soap while they’d talked. Eyes fixed on his work, Even frowned as he took the job of cleaning Isak a little too seriously. Isak grinned before the expression melted in wonder as he took a deep breath and absorbed the patient, caring, sweet man in front of him. 

What had he done to deserve this? 

As if Even read his mind, his gaze latched on to Isak's face. Isak knew he was gawking again, his eyelids heavy under the loving weight that settled on him, brought on by Even's physical presence. The flannel was dropped, two large hands grasped his face tenderly. Isak was lured nearer, his own fingers reflexively hooking over Even's shoulders. The rawness in his crystalline blue eyes, and the depth of Even’s feelings that centred on Isak, never failed to render him deaf and dumb. 

What else needed to be said when they shared these moments? 

Tilting his head forward, Even tried again for his postponed kiss, making sure he moved slowly for Isak to interrupt again if he needed to. But Isak had no qualms, nothing was unsaid, as Even's mouth neared his. Problems dwindled in his mind; the world paled in importance compared to this. 

Finally, Isak's mouth was reclaimed with sweet, wet, languid kisses. Giving no resistance, he was manoeuvred until tiles met his back—already warm from the water and steam. Even sent his fingers out as scouts, scouring Isak's flesh. A shiver of anticipation coursed through him, contrary to the heat. 

" _Even_ ," he exclaimed softly while Even was at his throat, kissing a path that seemed to have a specific direction in mind. It felt good to say his name, he’d become more than comfortable with the sound rolling from his tongue in pleasure. " _Baby_."

His mouth moved lower before Even sunk to his knees. Isak's hands began to fist in wet, golden hair, his breath already ragged with anticipation and want. Even was instinctively talented when it came to Isak’s mind and body; watching him eat was provocative enough, let alone gawking while that same kind, generous, and loving mouth worked down his stomach. 

The kisses were laid soft over his lower belly before Even's stare snared Isak’s attention—a clear and cool eternity. No matter how lost Isak became, those eyes would always ground him and bring him home. 

_Home_.

"What are you doing?" Isak mumbled, unsure why he’d asked when it was so obvious even his cock knew what was up. He hung full and heavy, head brushing against Even's chest with every kiss pushed to his skin.

Even’s hand found and steadied his length, beginning to stroke lazily. Isak was left to moan mindless encouragement. He was so close to Even's mouth, lips had reached the boundary drawn between the top of Isak’s thigh and his groin—brushing over the hair that thickened there. The hesitation hinted that he was being teased, at least for a moment. Gaze darting from Even’s mouth to his darkened eyes, Isak wordlessly begged. 

"I'm doing my own _thorough_ itinerary," he answered with a grin. 

Isak attempted to roll his eyes, to snort a laugh, but the mirth was discarded and replaced by a shocked gasp when he moved forward, lips parting as he took Isak quickly, _urgently_. Warm tightness at the back of Even’s throat embraced him. 

" _Fuck."_


	24. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing back?” The words were free before Even had a chance to analyse them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have the majority of the remaining story ready to post before I laid it down. We have some stuff to work through and I don't think anyone needs added anguish in life right now. So this update should take us to the penultimate chapter.
> 
> I'm thinking of you all, and I'm hoping you are all safe and well and treating yourself kindly <3 As always thank you for following along and putting up with my intermittent posting <3 
> 
> Love you all <3

### Homecoming

Even hadn’t stopped since morning, and there were still things left to do before leaving for work. Given that the surprise was his for the making, Even had decided that—after their date—they wouldn’t be coming back here. That meant the house had to be readied for when Sonja and the kids would return. 

Reservations made the moment Isak had left for Uni, Even felt elated. Things were beginning to make sense, falling into place with ease. He could only hope the rest of the world would adjust as smoothly. With every kiss, that hope seemed to find more credibility. The right moment _would_ come, to be open and honest, sooner rather than later.

Sheets still warm from the dryer, Even carried them in one arm while pulling his phone from his jean pocket. A quick text was composed to Isak, Even would pick him up from his dorm after giving Mikael a hand, around six. He stood in the guest room by the time it was sent, the clean sheets were thrown onto the bed and his phone placed on the bedside table. He started to move faster. The quicker he was done here, the faster he would get to the studio, and then onto the date. 

It would be good news they’d have to share, Even could feel it in his bones. 

He was adjusting the last corner of the fitted sheet over the mattress, every other piece of bedding in a pile on the floor, when the front door opened. Frowning, Even forgot the job at hand hurrying downstairs to figure out why Isak was back. The meeting wasn’t until the end of the teaching day. Maybe it was a bad sign. Even prepared words of comfort, as his muscles tensed in apprehension, already figuring out a way around a _no_. But he wasn’t prepared for his stomach to turn when he got to the bottom of the stairs. 

“What are you doing back?” The words were free before Even had a chance to analyse them. 

Sonja frowned as she hung her coat, not looking as surprised to see him as he was to see her. Of course, his car was outside. But he had reason to be here—it still wasn’t out of the ordinary. They weren’t due back for another day. Where were the kids?

There was nothing he could do for the sweat that broke out over his body. Had he left anything incriminating on show? What about Isak? He’d taken all his things with him but Even was yet to do a final check of the house. His head began to spin as the universe he was so deeply lost within collided suddenly and without warning with another. He needed to sit down and run all at the same time, but his legs were locked where he stood—three stairs up. 

“I went to The Caprice first. Mikael told me you were here,” she said, looking thoughtful. That would have been an uncomfortable position for Mikael to be in. Had it shown? Mikael knew all too well what was happening, knew why Even was so eager to be home every time he’d shown up at the gallery. 

But there was something else telling in her words. “You’re looking for me?”

She attempted to smile, nerves making it weak. “Yeah. I know I said we’d be back Saturday but the kids were missing your parents. So, I figured I’d come back early, give them an afternoon over there. And… we would have a chance to talk over _things_.” 

Even’s mouth was hanging open, tongue dry as his thoughts raced and multiplied, tying themselves in knots. “You couldn’t just call and tell me that’s what you were gonna do? I was talking to Chris last night. You could have said—”

“It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“Great time to become spontaneous,” he retorted with no small measure of ire. 

Sonja inhaled, eyes darting around, unsure what to do and no doubt confused by where Even’s priorities lay with his questioning. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” 

“Well I have things to do, I have to go help Mikael, and then I have plans—”

“ _Plans_?”

And what could he say to that? The questioning tone prickled his already brimming defensiveness. “You think I can’t make plans?” 

Her perplexed expression didn’t evaporate but she shook her head, guilt eased her features to passivity. Sonja really was working at civility. Even on the other hand was chomping at the bit for confrontation. And he knew it was because of the guilt, of being caught like this when there were too many anxious thoughts running wild. Half of that was due to the desire for honesty when Isak wasn’t ready yet. Even wanted to fly a banner, make it perfectly clear, and move on. But they’d made a plan together, and he wouldn’t betray that. 

“I didn’t mean that. But can you spare me some time? Now, at least?”

Even sighed, there was little he could do for the frustration present and clear. Raking a hand through his hair, he nodded. His plans could be delayed for a few minutes. “Sure. Why not?” 

Her smile was back, a little firmer than before. “You want tea?” she asked over her shoulder making a path to the kitchen.

Even shook his head as he followed on numb soles. “I’m good.” He sat at the table and waited impatiently for the kettle to boil and a pot to be filled with water and loose tea. She settled opposite him, quietly analysing her unspoken intentions. Gracefully, she poured the honey-coloured liquid carefully into a thin china cup. 

“Spending time with the kids made me look at things differently.”

Plucking at a stray thread in his t-shirt, Even frowned. “Like what?”

There was a heavy sigh before the answer came—not filled with frustrations like Even’s had been but something else. Regret perhaps. “I just haven’t really been a part of the family for a long time. I haven’t been your wife or even your friend.”

The snort that followed her words was a nonconscious event. “I figured you’d know you weren’t being _my wife_ when you were fucking someone else.”

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Even watched the discomfort his harsh words caused pass over her clear skin like a wave. But she remained composed. “I did a lot of shit, Even, I’m not gonna try and justify it. I am sorry that I did it—truly, I am.” 

What did sorry mean in this context? It was a word that held no weight. He knew her, and the elements that had driven her to do what she’d done. In a fucked up way, he understood—not that he condoned it. That understanding had kept him sane for the last three years. But with his own immorality in check, Even seemed to want to point out her flaws all the louder. It wasn’t right, he knew that, but it was so easy for those venomous words to come. They’d been hidden so long.

“Sonja, I don’t wanna talk about y—all _that_ . I don’t _need_ to talk about what you’ve been doing. I’ve known, _you’ve_ known that I’ve known. Let’s just leave it at that.” It was hardly fair considering he’d been the one to bring up the subject, and crassly at that. “And I don’t need you to be sorry. It won’t do anything.”

She studied him before nodding once. There were obviously things she wished to say in response, but courtesy was her priority now. “OK. I won’t go there,” she said, taking a sip of her tea before deciding what tangent to take next. He could see she wasn’t done. “I’ve been thinking about things from the kids’ perspective.” 

Even chewed his lip. That was something he couldn’t grumble over. Despite her distance from them as a family unit, until that night two weeks, she hadn’t jeopardised the kids. She’d always put their well-being first: medically, educationally, physically. Her withdrawal from them had always been propelled by a fear of herself and depression. He wasn’t going to throw that in her face; Sonja was many things but a bad mother didn’t make the list. “And?”

There was a deep inhale before she carried on. “They need their mum and dad,” the statement was firm and one he wouldn’t argue against. It was what accompanied it in a quieter tone that tripped Even up, sending him sprawling into what could only be a parallel world. “They’d want us to stay together.” 

It seemed an hour passed before Even was able to engage his mouth. “What are you talking about?” he asked, an uncontrollable and mirthless laugh carrying his words.

“You know, all these years it’s been me going to therapy—not _us_. What if it had been us going? What if we could still work through this?” Her expression was open and serious. She truly meant it. 

Even shook his head. None of this made sense. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“We get on well, we always have. We could stay together if we worked at this. I’m willing to do what needs to be done—to make things right. I fucked up—”

“I don’t think _you_ understand what you’re saying.” Even cut her off, tensing at where this was going and unwilling to let her rambling sentence reach dangerous territory. 

But the way her eyes were fixed unblinkingly on him said she did know. Whilst she’d been cut off from the world for a week with the kids, somehow she’d managed to talk herself into something that made absolutely no sense for either of them. How hard did he have to work to make her see that _that_ wasn’t a dream either of them wanted anymore?

“I do, I’ve thought about nothing else. I do still love you—”

At that he stood, pushing himself from the table. “ _No_ ,” he said vehemently. “No, you don’t.”

“I care for you then. Believe me, _please_.” 

The dizziness inflicted by their disorientating conversation wasn’t helped as he continued to shake his head in denial. “Sonja, you don’t want me. _This_ is _not_ what you want—happy families. Playing that game is what drove us here in the first place—you _must_ see that.” 

Her mouth was open, she was hesitating now. _Good_. “But if we’d tried before—before Bo, then maybe—”

“But we _didn’t_ , Son. We didn’t.” 

“We could—”

“ _No_ . We couldn’t.” She huffed now, losing her strained patience with his flat out refusal of this gentle proposal. How had she imagined this conversation would go? “You have another life, you have someone. He must mean something to you, something I don’t mean to you—something you need. _And_ he’s your boss—”

“I would make changes.”

Even snorted in disbelief. “Just like that? You’d quit? Finish with him?”

Nodding, she licked her lips. Her face was pale. She was sacrificing, Even could see it, and for what? “The kids are what’s important. What I did was selfish, and it’s nothing compared to them. I want to do the _right_ thing for them.”

Scrubbing at his face, Even felt tears of frustration welling up. Couldn’t she see the minefield this plan would lay? She’d ostracised herself from the kids in the fear that she would harm them more with her presence. That’s how she’d come to her isolation, that’s why she’d reached out and found a haven somewhere else. She’d _needed_ it. Cutting it off, pretending to be what she wasn’t for the sake of the kids, was just as foolhardy as her methods to protect them from the mothering qualities that she self-doubted so intensely. But he was out of words to make this easy for her, to extend that understanding and soothe her. He had his own emotions to deal with and she once again was manipulating them. 

This was _not_ fair. 

“There is no right or wrong,” he muttered, hands dropping to his side.

She fidgeted in her seat and fingered the handle of the cup, unsure now. If not unsure, at least bewildered. “But why shouldn’t we try?”

“History repeating itself perhaps.” Disdain marred his words, he was sorry for it but there was no repressing how he felt anymore. Enough was enough. 

“We can make a fresh start. It was me that forced you here, into this world—being a dad, marriage. I _can_ make things better. We can get to know each other again, love each other—”

“ _No_ ,” his word acted like a slap it was so firm. She sat back in her seat, eyes wide. It made Even uneasy to see her vulnerable. “No, Sonja.”

Tears were welling in her eyes. Panic was setting in that she might not be able to fix this in the way she thought was right in the eyes of everyone else but themselves. “Why won’t you just try? Let me make it better,” her plea a whisper.

There were only two ways he could answer that, and he didn’t at that moment have the emotional energy or intellectual capacity to explain to her exactly why this wasn’t right for her, why he wasn’t what she wanted or needed. He needed air. 

The tact had to change. This wasn’t just about was right or wrong for her, or what was and wasn’t within her power to change. This wasn’t what _he_ wanted, and he should state that—it was only fair.

“Because I’m in love with someone else.” He forced himself to look at her. She sat completely still, lips parted, face impassive with the shock that must have overwhelmed her. That shock didn’t help his mood. Had she thought him incapable of finding someone? “As strange as it might be for you to understand, there is someone out there that wants me. And _I_ want _them_.” 

“Even—”

“I have to go,” Even overrode whatever denial she was about to spew. He needed to be outside. “I have to go,” he repeated turning from her, making a swift path towards freedom from this cluster-fuck. Her words were worms in his brain, disrupting thoughts and plans and rational. 

He just needed to be away.


	25. Paralysis and What Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The further she went the more regret swarmed like wasps. 
> 
> Yet her anger outgrew everything else, towering over the shoots of sorrow, fear, and regret; a dense shadow over a neglected garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *covers eyes*

###  Paralysis and What Follows

The tea was lukewarm by the time Sonja found the will to stir from her stupor. She sat forward wiping a half-dried tear from her cheek. Once again she’d charged into a situation without really considering what was going on with Even. 

He was in love with someone.

It was no surprise that that revelation had been a punch to the gut—and not for the obvious egotistical reasons. The part of her brain that despised her mental wellbeing was already telling her the kids would love the unknown entity better. 

Thoughts spiralled, one after the other, trying to address questions that she had no qualifications to answer. The only person who could answer had slammed the door shut on her some twenty minutes ago.

Her body decided it needed to be doing and moving, otherwise, worries would have her scratching absentmindedly at her wrist until the skin was red-raw. She needed to process these feelings because right now the only understandable element of what had just passed was overwhelming failure on her part—in  _ all _ areas. 

This plan that she’d talked herself into, had seemed the only righteous path available. That path had strayed into dream territory, imagining what  _ could _ be—a happy, normal family unit. To have judged this so wrong after laying those naive thoughts bare, to have been rejected in this altruistic notion, was an acute sensation. Yet she understood. Even didn’t want or need her best intentions any more. Why that hurt so much, she wasn’t entirely sure. That perhaps was her ego. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Sonja halted at Christina’s room. It gave her a moment of peace to simply gaze in wonder at the mural that was completely new, as much a surprise to her as it would be to Chris. It was beautiful. 

So  _ that _ was why Even had been here.

She continued on towards the master bedroom. A shower would help, it always did. After that, she could spend the afternoon reassessing the situation. Maybe Even would make time, outside of his plans, to come back and continue their talk. If this wasn’t the way to go, they had to figure out what was. Separation was the only answer it seemed, that would mean telling the kids.

_ Plans _ . Now it made sense. It had sounded so ominous when Even had said it. They must include this new person in his life. 

She stopped to frown at the guestroom. The door was open and the bedding sprawled on the floor. Even must have been changing the sheets. So he’d slept here and not their bed? That made sense. The Even she knew would find it hard enough sleeping in the house now—after everything and wanting to move on. 

If Isak had taken her up on the offer to stay perhaps it wouldn’t have been so uncomfortable for Even—he would have had company to take his mind from sour memories. But where would Isak have slept?

Striding into the room, Sonja gathered up the sheets and pillows, folding them before they were set on the mattress. The bed could be dressed later after she’d freshened up. A noise froze her motions as she turned to leave—a bleep. Gaze darting to the source, the bedside table, Sonja found the screen lighting up on a phone. 

It was Even’s phone, the bleeping a message. Being only a meter beneath her nose, the name that flashed up was clear:  _ Isak _ . 

Isak and Even, both here and quite alone for the weekend.

Her breathing became heavy as she sunk to the bed. It wasn’t right to do, she knew it and so did her arm as it trembled, reaching out. But it was a reaction she couldn’t halt, suddenly noticing the pieces before her eyes when she’d no idea it was a puzzle all along. The picture pulled together, things began to make sense: Isak’s reactions last week, Mark’s comments, the way Even spoke about him, their connection... 

She  _ had _ to know but Sonja desperately wanted to be wrong.

Her thumb swiped the screen into action because of course Even wouldn’t have a password. Why would he need to? And the ball of complex emotion forming in her core expanded, the threads tangled, before her gut lurched like an elevator dropping fast. 

**_OK, baby. I’ll wait, I’m heading back now. I have to speak to my mum before you do lol. And I got the go-ahead, so we’re really celebrating later. I can’t wait to see you. Love you_ **

Dread poured into her, pounding in her ears, as she pressed a hand to her mouth. Now she’d started, now that boundary had been shattered, she couldn’t stop scrolling. The further she went the more regret swarmed like wasps. Yet her anger outgrew everything else, towering over the shoots of sorrow, fear, and regret; a dense shadow over a neglected garden.

**I did fall in love with the nanny so maybe you have a point**

Even’s words hit hard, the last straw that broke her paralysis. Sonja was on her feet, phone forgotten, as she followed the path Even had made before her. But once in her own car, she would be heading in a different direction entirely. 


	26. Spirals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was him. 
> 
> This was his fault. How many people would he hurt?

###  Spirals 

Isak fished around in his pocket for the keys, cold fingertips making the task more arduous than it should have been. It seemed the time had come to find his winter gloves. The security guard was on his rounds, Isak could see the vacant desk through the glass of the door—misting with his breath. Anxiety coiled tighter with every drone of the dial tone, emanating from the phone pressed to his ear. 

She  _ always _ picked up.

“Isak!”

Lowering his hand, the call was forgotten as he turned to the voice. Recognition dawning before he laid eyes on her. “Sonja,” he replied, warmth in his tone. It was a surprise to see her but a good one. Yet Isak’s smile faltered when he took her in: marching forward with determination, arms folded across her chest, and her mouth set in a grim line. He’d seen this before—someone charging to war.

Isak took a step back, trying to straighten under the weight of her scowl. Nausea stabbed sharply, a crippling pain he couldn’t breathe through. He knew what was coming. Sonja stopped in front of him, and the wall was at his back; he was in an unforgiving trap. Her eyes scoured him, painting him from head to foot in disgust. 

“ _ You _ ,” she said, voice rocky and sharp. “How could you?” 

His mouth worked but only a feeble panicked noise escaped. There was no point in lying, or denying—not that he wanted to. Somehow she  _ knew _ . And Even couldn’t be aware or he would have called. Why hadn’t he called? “It’s not—”

“What it looks like?” she finished with a sardonic grin. “How many ways are there to take:  _ you have a beautiful cock and it’s always welcome in my inbox and other places _ ?” Her voice rose with every word. They bounced from the walls of the buildings that surrounded them, echoes that spawned a thousand fresh arrows of accusation to shoot through him. 

Shaking his head, Isak swallowed, trying to stop the bile from rising in his throat. His cheeks were hot despite the crisp chill in the air. “Sonja. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Fuck your friend’s husband? Your boss? The dad of the kids you look after? Which one is it?” 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Isak tried in vain not to drown in the tide of shame that was coming in thick and fast. “It isn’t like that,  _ please _ .”

She snorted a derisive laugh. “Did you have fun while I was away, hm? Did you stay at the house together?” The pause left in the question’s wake was an answer on its own. “Of course you did. Did you fuck in  _ my _ bed? Maybe the kids’ rooms, too. Dining room? Kitchen?” The questions were a rapid-fire attack.

Isak held his hands up in protest and peace, shaking his head. “No, no we didn’t. We’re trying not to hurt anyone. We didn’t think—”

“You didn’t  _ care _ , Isak,” she interjected, spitting the words out. Her anger wasn’t so much contained as it was roaming wild. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she decided to hit him, and he’d take it. “You didn’t care.” And in those words there came a bite of pain, pain that Isak had so desperately wanted to avoid. He’d hurt her. Betrayed another friend.

“We do, please, you have to believe me. We just couldn’t say anything—not now. Everything is so fucked up, Sonja. But we were gonna fix it, in time—”

“ _ We _ ?” her pitch heightened with affront. That was perhaps the wrong choice of words but it was too late now. “You think it’s serious? Do you think that after being with to me for a decade he wants anything more than to get laid? Do you think he knows what he wants right now?” The question was punctuated with another mirthless laugh that turned Isak’s blood to ice. “You just let yourself get used.” 

Isak stuttered a pathetic wordless defence, but what could he say to that without making her angrier? And in his shame-filled state, his brain took her words as seeds. What if it was true? Sure Even  _ thought _ he was in love, but how could he possibly fucking know this wasn’t just rebound or a release? 

“Please, can we talk about this somewhere? We can go inside and talk. Or I can listen.”

“And say what? What can you say? Is there some defence you wanna use to make yourself feel better? There’s not, you know—there’s nothing you can say.” She huffed out a white cloud of irritation, a tear streaked over her cheek. Isak watched her chin firm against the suffering that was heavy within her. When she spoke, anger patched her vulnerability. “Is this your thing? Do you like being a homewrecker? Does it give you a thrill? Fucking someone off-limits?” 

His fingers scrubbed at his face, trying to push away her words. But she was right. This  _ was _ what he did. Maybe he was only drawn to Even because he was  _ off-limits _ . Maybe that was all there was to Isak—a fuck boy who didn’t give a shit about destroying everyone around him. 

There was no room for logic, or to weigh her actions against her own words. There was no reasoning out—if only to himself—that her accusations came from pure hurt, a hurt that was not solely down to Isak. Even and Sonja had been far from happy for a long time, and she had no grounds to call someone out on immoral behaviour.

But self-loathing ate away all of his logic and reasoning. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hitching where remorseful tears threatened.

“Sorry? You’re  _ Sorry?  _ What am I gonna tell Chris? And Bo. They love you. I loved you—as my friend. You can’t come around anymore. I don’t want you anywhere near them, do you get that? Did you think you would take my place? Be a better parent than me? I bet Even has told you about how fucked up I am. I bet you both had a good time laughing behind my back.” 

Isak was shaking, slumping against the wall. His worst fears had materialised, putting on a grotesque stage show. It sounded like apparitions of nightmares taunted Sonja, too. She wouldn’t let him see the kids anymore, she would hate him for what he’d done. Isak wouldn’t blame her. He and Even would never work—not now. The kids couldn’t live with this toxicity. They would be caught up in contention and Isak would never do that to them. 

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, one last time. It was all he had but it was true. He stared at his shoes, unable to look at her. 

A long moment passed before she grunted in disgust. “You both—you both make me sick.” The sentiment was followed by her footsteps as she retreated. Then an engine started and she was gone.

Isak continued to stare at the mud beneath his feet like they would give him the answers to Sonja’s tortured questions, and she might return to listen to them. Eva had said the same thing—it was the last thing she’d ever said to him: he made her sick. 

They were right, he was nothing more than a piece of shit. 

The lump in his throat felt like a fist. He needed someone, he needed to talk—to cry. As if the universe answered that prayer, his phone rang. The motions were numb and slowed as he looked at the screen. He took three shallow and laboured breaths. Panic was quickly descending on him, the air thinning. But he could talk to her, she would know what to say. She always knew what to say.

“Mum,” he said, a one-word a plea. 

_ “No, it’s me.” _

He frowned. “Lea?” His tongue was thick, thoughts and responses sluggish. Everything slowed. Why would she answer the phone? She sounded rushed—as panicked he felt.

_ “It’s mum. She was in the garden—doing the stupid fucking paving. And the phone was ringing. She fell coming in to answer, I don’t know how. She’s bleeding—unconscious. The ambulance is coming. I called them before I called you.”  _ Her words were rapid, trying to inform as best as she could while being alarmed and afraid.

“It was me.”

“ _ What _ ?” she shot back impatiently. 

“I called.”

_ “I know, Isak. It’s why I’m calling you. I’ve got her, she’s breathing fine. I think it’s just a cut. But I have to go—the paramedics will be here soon.” _

“It was me.”

_ “Isak? I said I know. I have to go.”  _

There was only time to make a sound of comprehension before the line went dead. The world began to unravel, Isak was descending into chaos, eyes staring and unseeing. 

It was  _ him _ . 

This was his fault. How many people would he hurt? Was this all he was good for? He was supposed to have called before—Even had told him to. If he had done so then she wouldn’t have been coming to answer now, she wouldn’t have fallen. 

_ No _ —before that. 

He was supposed to go home and do the garden—he’d  _ told _ her not to do it. But had he gone to see her? Had he done as promised? Were there no limits to how much of a selfish asshole he could be? And what damage had he caused to everyone he loved? He was a disaster. 

The lump in his throat forced its way higher but Isak hardened around it, trembling with rage that was completely self-inflicted. 

What had he done?


	27. Familiar Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one place he remembered feeling safe—away from it all and touching the only person he’d ever falling in love with while staring at the stars. “The sea,” he mumbled.

###  Familiar Blur

There was an immense amount of pain required to smother his memories and trauma-learned instincts enough to neck half a bottle of vodka in twenty minutes. His stomach had churned as it burned down his throat but his loathing had maintained an iron grip on his body’s reactions. 

He didn’t deserve to feel sorry for himself.

He didn’t deserve to cry.

He didn’t deserve to throw up. 

Those words repeated themselves, over and over, in his skull. Isak was no longer sure he was caught in a downward spiral, it felt more like free-falling into an abyss. The hallway tilted as he stumbled from his room. Maybe his keys were on him, maybe not. Fuck knows where his phone was. 

_ Air _ . He just needed to be outside. And if worse came to worst he deserved it anyway. 

The frigid air snapped around him, tugging at his t-shirt. The alcohol numbed him to the bleak chill, even with the rain beginning to fall from the pitch-black sky. Blinking, Isak squinted at the blurry world around him. He’d covered ground faster than he thought and had zero recollection of coming down the stairwell. 

Now the  _ pavement _ shifted. They should probably do something about that, he thought before stumbling into a bush. Isak’s grip on the bottle never lessening. 

There was a girl on the curb-side ahead, rubbing her arms against the cold, but the details stopped there. Isak couldn’t focus. Then a moped was there, she walked towards the guy who wore a red helmet. He held something out in a small bag. Despite being wasted, Isak knew what that was.

“Kris?” the rider asked.

“That’s me,” the girl said. 

Isak sneered. The moped zoomed off and the girl was walking in his direction, bag dangling from her white fingers. As she passed he snatched it and turned to snicker. 

“Kris? I know your dad,” he slurred, in a tell-tale manner, wagging a finger. It wasn’t quite true, but it was true enough for Isak right now. “Naughty girl,” he tutted. 

She’d reached out to retaliate, to take back whatever shitty mix of drugs Mr Moped had sold to an idiot student, but stopped when his meaning translated. “You piece of shit,” she spat, before turning back to the dorm, pulling her phone from her pocket. Whoever she called picked up swiftly and she cursed while scowling over her shoulder at Isak. 

But fuck it. What was the worst that could happen?

“That’s me,” he muttered before turning his back and thrusting his hand in his pocket. He stumbled again, feet numb in his shoes. This time a hand steadied him, and instinctively, Isak lurched away from the touch.

“ _ Easy _ ,” came the low voice. 

Isak squinted at the dark shape with its dark hat on its roundish head. Security dude. “I’m good,” he slurred. There was a snort of laughter, it got Isak’s back up. “Just fucken keep walking around—whatever the fuck you do.” 

“Alright, son. Don’t you think you should go back inside? Where’s your coat?”

Swaying, Isak almost lost his footing entirely as he turned his head to spit onto the ground, next to Security dudes feet. That was what he thought of being called  _ son. _ “I’m fuckin good. OK?” Despite the state he was in the vehemence was clear. If he was gonna be an asshole to the people he loved, why not the people he barely knew?

“Where are you going?” The low voice called out as Isak lurched into motion again, away from the accusing bright eyes that were the dorm windows. Isak shrugged. He had no clue. He didn’t need to say shit to anyone about what he was doing, but it felt more like the world quizzing him or his own internal narration, than the voice of a stranger. 

Where  _ was _ he going? What  _ was _ he going to do? 

There was only one place he remembered feeling safe—away from it all and touching the only person he’d ever falling in love with while staring at the stars. “The sea,” he mumbled.

The night turned into a kaleidoscopic time warp; he kept frowning and finding himself in places with no memory of how he got there. But his fists would close around plastic and glass and it would somehow remind him of his purpose. He needed to forget, wipe everything clean. He needed to destroy the pain he had no right to feel.

Every once in awhile a sensation moved through his numbness, emanating from his pocket. It made a noise that pierced the night. So he  _ did _ have his phone? He scowled down at it and the brightness that didn’t belong here. A clumsy thumb pressed down on the volume key. He cancelled the call.

The ground was soft and wet when his knees met it, slumping to the grass as the sound of water gently sloshed around him. The still surface was as black as the sky it mirrored. Maybe it was a portal to another world where he didn’t fuck up quite so badly, he mused idly before his thoughts skittered elsewhere. 

His lungs were full of air like he couldn’t get enough of the stuff. It was the opposite to how he’d feel around Even, where he couldn’t catch his breath, and yet that was better than this. That was his sanctuary and he wouldn’t find it again.

Fumbling once again for that hard shape in his pocket, he pulled his phone free, managing somehow to unlock it. There was only one thing he should do, he just needed to tell Even that—that how he felt when he was with Even was better than anything else he’d ever have: 

**breathing is stupid anyway**

Pills on his palm, Isak knocked them back and chased it with a mouthful of vodka. Soon he wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

For a while, there would be nothing to worry about.


	28. The Three C's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tugging at Even’s shirt, he was manoeuvred down before Chris did a poor job of whispering in his ear. “She’s in a bad mood.” 

###  The Three C’s

This wasn’t the journey he’d expected to take once he’d broken free of The Caprice, but this first destination was en route to Isak. He needed his phone and the house was the last place he remembered having it. Even refused to entertain the worries that uncomfortable fact brought—his phone and Sonja alone in the same space. 

He couldn’t have come any earlier. Once he’d arrived at the studio Mikael bolted, mumbling about dealing with a supplier. It was only five minutes later he realised, wanting to check on Isak, that it was missing. When Mikael pulled up out front Even had literally run, not willing to wait for his business partner to turn off the engine, let alone get into the building. On top of the need to rescue himself from the fate of a nosy Sonja, Even also had news of his own that he was bursting to tell Isak. 

Socked feet on the floorboards of the living room, with the door closing at his back, a split-second passed before a squealing noise sounded It preceded Christina as she flew down the stairs and engulfed him in a tight hug—as ridiculous as that was, considering she was half his size. 

“ _ Daddy _ ,” she squeaked excitedly. “Thank you, thank you,  _ thank youuuu. _ ”

Even grinned, hugging her tight. “I did promise, right?”

“It’s perfect.” And that was all Even needed to hear. 

“I missed you, sweetheart.” He had, both of them ferociously. With all the wants and worries that were driving him,  _ this _ was worth drifting off course for. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s sleeping,” she murmured, face pushed into his chest. 

“Sounds about right. You should probably be sleeping too, no?”

She snorted softly before looking up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty much an adult now. I can stay up all night.”

Even couldn’t help but laugh, smoothing her wild hair—a futile act that was more for his benefit than anything else. “God help us.”

“You don’t believe in God.”

Nodding in agreement, he sighed. “You’re right. I guess there’s no help for me.”

Christina opened her mouth to speak, something witty on the horizon no doubt, but was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Sonja stood in the archway that led to the dining room. Tugging at Even’s shirt, he was manoeuvred down before Chris did a poor job of whispering in his ear. “She’s in a bad mood.” 

Even’s blood ran cold, eyes flitting to the silent figure. “You best get to bed then,” he replied, his voice a light contrast to the heaviness descending quickly. Something was desperately wrong. He kissed her cheek before turning her and sending her towards the stairs. “You have fairies to entertain.”

“ _ And _ elves,” she corrected before ascending. 

He cleared his throat, directing his words at Sonja. “I’m just here to get my phone, I left it in the guestroom.” The smile on her face didn’t touch her eyes. She lifted one hand, fingers snug around what he was looking for. His breathing was shallow as dread drew its sharp nails down his spine. “Good night, baby,” he said, eyes unable to move from Sonja’s slender fingers. “I’ll check on you and Bo in a bit,” he added absentmindedly. 

If Chris read anything into the scenario playing out between her parents it didn’t show. “OK, Daddy.” Her footsteps drummed their way into Even’s peripheral before she vanished.

“Thanks.” Moving forward, he held out his hand and she reached out hers—no attempt to withhold it. Maybe he was panicking over nothing. Snagging it from her grip, Even shoved it in his pocket. He could check the notifications in the car. “Well, I need to get going—”

“I  _ know _ —who it is.” 

Fear wrapped its bony fingers around his spine, gripping tight and forcing paralysis. Yet there was no point in playing dumb, and he didn’t want to. Somehow words came easy. “I would have preferred to tell you myself in my own time.” He wouldn’t give her one inch of the higher ground. Not only had she absolutely no right to be pissed off considering her own second-life, but she’d also overstepped a boundary he never had, not once despite her obvious unfaithfulness. 

Sonja’s lips parted, there was a moment of hesitation. She didn’t look firmly attached to any attack or defence. Emotions seemed as volatile in her as they were in himself. Who knew which one would drive her response. “How long?” 

Even snorted before shaking his head. “ _ Why _ ? Why does that matter?”

“He was in  _ my  _ house with  _ my  _ kids.”

“ _ Ours _ ,” he corrected firmly. “Our house. Our kids. And if you want to know—not that I  _ need _ to tell you anything—the night you came home with  _ him _ .” Even didn’t need to name names for her to understand. “That’s when it started—when I’d left.”

“So, it’s rebound.”

“What? No.  _ No _ . If it was fucking rebound, Sonja, if I wanted  _ anything _ like rebound, I’d go to a club and find someone as drunk as I would no doubt have to be to go down that route. I thought you knew me.” He took a breath to steady himself, to slow the vehemence at her accusation. “It was a long time coming, between him and me.”

Eyes wide, she shook her head. “Why Isak? Why? He’s—he’s—” 

“Nice? Genuine? Caring? We all like him? Yeah, it’s a hard job to see why I would love him,” he answered sarcastically. He would need to apologise to Isak. This wasn’t supposed to come out yet, and Even could stop and leave now, sparing the details. But something in him wanted to fight, to defend. He wouldn’t let Isak’s fear of rejection become reality—even Sonja’s rejection he would do his utmost to abolish. 

Her mouth was moving fruitlessly until she decided on where to attack next. “ _ Love _ ?” she huffed disbelievingly. “You just wanna replace me then? Have the kids forget me over  _ him _ because we all know he is better with them than I am.” Her voice was rising with every word. The mask of anger was slipping to show it’s honest face: fear. He could see it shining in her eyes, nightmares coming to life in the darkness behind her eyelids. “I won’t have someone take my place. I won’t have him here—near them.”

Sympathy was out of reach to Even right now. He snorted a mirthless laugh. “So let me get this straight. You want me to move on to someone who’s mundane, or even a complete waste of space, just so  _ you _ don’t feel threatened? Your insecurities are more important than the welfare of our kids and the people we choose to have around them?”

“No, that’s  _ not _ what I meant—” she began, scrambling to overturn his own accusations, but he wasn’t done.

“Then what, Sonja? What is your problem? You’ve had everything the way you’ve wanted it for so long. You have no right to judge. Who are  _ you _ to say what’s right or wrong here? Or even  _ allowed, _ for that matter.” Staring her down, he crossed his arms, waiting for her reply.

She licked her lips, unsure. “He was my friend. I trusted him—”

Even rolled his eyes. “He’s done  _ nothing _ to you. You have no idea how much he tortured himself over this—hurting you and the kids. We were supposed to avoid each other completely because he couldn’t bear lying to you. It’s been hell keeping away.” It was a simple truth easily conveyed in his voice as it strained over the words, over the memories of the distance that had stretched between him and Isak for her benefit.

There was one final flicker of defiance in her. “But you didn’t. I saw the texts. You were here— _ together _ .”

“Yes, we were. You know why? Because we’re human and we’re alone and we’re in love. Sometimes people fuck up, Sonja—you should know. I needed him, and he needed me.” Even wasn’t sure where the confidence sprung from, or the belief in their actions, but he’d never been more sure of himself and this new and wonderful relationship he’d been gifted. He understood now that there were no regrets and never would be. “I’ve never once judged you,” he added in a quiet voice.

A tear broke free from her lashes. She couldn’t look at him anymore. There was something more. Remorse? Regret? His own dread hadn’t abated either; this wasn’t the end of it. 

“I’m so confused,” she said, voice shaky. Pushing her hair back from her forehead she wiped away another tear. “I don’t know what to think—what to  _ feel _ .”

Even had no idea how to help her there, or if he should try. He wanted her to be OK, despite everything, he still cared. So did Isak. “He cares about you, Sonja. You haven’t been betrayed. We just fell in love and there wasn’t anything or anyone could do about it.” 

There was a hesitant pause, she still couldn’t meet his eyes. “He won’t be my friend anymore.” 

Blinking away confusion, Even tried to understand why she had focussed on this particular worry. Did she think Isak would pick a side? Or maybe that he would be too scared to see her? “It doesn’t have to be like that—” but he cut off as she shook her head. 

“No. He won’t  _ want _ to be my friend anymore.”

Even’s chest rose and fell three times before he dared ask the question. Not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know. “What do you mean?” 

She pressed a hand over her mouth, looking to the door in desperation before the words tumbled from her. “I went to speak to him.”

“You did  _ what _ ?” he demanded.

Her desperate gaze found him. There was remorse there, he’d been right. “I said things—I was so angry and hurt. I thought—”

“I know what you  _ thought _ . Fuck, Sonja,” he responded harshly, moving away from her and to the door. He pulled out his phone scrolling through his notifications. His feet stopped.

**_breathing is stupid anyway_ **

“ _ Fuck _ .”

“What, Even?” she asked urgently as she followed him. “What’s happened?” 

He turned to stare her down and she shrunk back. His anger was righteous but secondary to the chaotic harrying scenarios of what might be happening, right now as he stood here, that assaulted his imagination. He needed to go, bickering wouldn’t do anything. “You don’t know him, what he’s been through. You could have—” he stopped, and there was also no point in speculating. “I don’t know what you’ve done but I have to find him.” 

Her own out of character timidity was overcome as she reached out to him. Even jerked away from her touch. Her hands fell away, but her eyes still plead. “Let me know what’s happening?” 

He owed her nothing, but there was no time to play tit-for-tat. With a nod, he left.


	29. Morse Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every second that passed was a grain of sand, slipping through his fingers. 

###  Morse Code

The night was a blur as it passed outside. The journey was unmemorable, Even had no recollection of the roads and turns he must have taken to get to this point, yet seemed to take an immeasurable period of time. It was like being in a black hole. There was no guarantee he would find solid ground on the other side. 

He had Isak on repeat dial—there’d been no answer yet.

Reckless was not something Even was ever described as, but as he ran a red near Isak’s dorm and screeched into the car park, braking harshly and diagonally over three spaces, that was exactly how he was acting. 

“ _ Isak _ !” Before his foot found the pavement he called out. Knowing which room was Isak’s he looked up to the window. The light wasn’t on. “Fuck.” The rush to the entrance was short lived. He came to a stumbling halt, breath huffing against the glass. How would he get in? No one was inside, behind the desk, but it didn’t stop him from banging his fist against the glass. Someone  _ would _ hear. They had to.

“Can I help you?” A voice came at his back.

Turning, Even found a guy dressed in a dark uniform, keys dangling from his belt. “Are you security? Can you let me in?”

Snorting a laugh, the guy shook his head. “That’s the opposite of my job. You aren’t a resident.”

“But,” Even had to calm down, he was losing patience because time was running out. He could feel it. “Someone’s in trouble—I know they are. They could be hurt, I have to get to them.”

The security guard frowned. “I can go check on them. Do you know the dorm number?” 

Even raked a hand through his hair. Number? He hadn’t even noticed they were numbered last time he was here. “Fuck, I don’t know. But it’s on the third floor, at the end of the corridor—on the left,” he said, words tripping over each other in his haste, as he pointed to the dark window, curtains drawn. “That’s the room.”

The guard let out a hum of understanding. “Quiet kid, right? Keeps to himself, wears a cap—”

“Yes, Isak. That’s him.”

“He went somewhere. About an hour ago, maybe more?”

His fingers gripped at his hair, beginning to despair. “Was he OK? How did he seem?”

The man’s frown deepened. “He was drunk, stumbling that way,” he pointed down a badly lit path that ran through some trees. “But that’s nothing unusual—”

“ _ Fuck _ .” Hands dropping to his side, Even scanned the trees like they might be able to tell him what to do or where to go. He was drinking? “Fuck. Did he say anything? Where he was going, or—” he stopped as the man shook his head. That wasn’t surprising. Then he wore a frown—a questioning expression. Had he remembered something? “What? Did he say anything at all? It might help”

“I don’t think it will. He said something about the sea, but there’s no way of getting to it right now and in his state.”

Even held his breath as he processed that. The coast was a forty-minute drive away, longer by train. Then he’d have to get to the train station. Perhaps a taxi? Either way, the lead didn’t seem useful. He was grasping at straws now. “Any streams nearby?” A river ran through the centre of town, but there were many smaller waterways that fed it. Maybe any water would do. He tried to smother the anxiety that thought gave him, Isak alone and drunk around water… 

“The only thing nearby is the lake on campus. It’s near the agriculture department. They use it for—”

Even didn’t have time to hear exactly what it was used for, and none to spare on politeness. “How do I get to it? Is it through there?” he pointed to the path Isak had taken. If he was drunk and stumbling maybe he’d gotten lost on the way. In the very least, the journey would take him longer than it would Even.

“Yeah, there’s a road through there. On the other side is the campus, then it’s a twenty-minute walk across to the other side—to the lake.” 

“Can I drive there?” Even demanded. 

“Yeah, come out and take that same road—you’ll see signposts for the sciences. You just follow it around—”

“Thanks,” Even called out, already in action. Perhaps the guy said something more, called out some assurance, but Even was deaf to it. 

* * *

If there’d been any energy for thoughts of gratefulness, with the lack of police in his path, they would be plentiful. As it was, Even simply made a beeline to where he needed to be in a frenzied race against time. Every second that passed was a grain of sand, slipping through his fingers. 

Isak was drunk. 

Isak was drunk and alone. 

Isak was drunk and alone and in pain. 

The rain that was steadily pelting him as he bolted across the stretch of grass between the small staff car park and the dark mass of water beyond. The peacefulness of the night was a direct conflict to how his heart hammered, vibrating through his body. The rush of blood in his ears that didn’t lessen was a terrifying sound. 

“ISAK!” he bellowed. It was like yelling into the void or that black hole that seemed to be the world around him right now. His cries were increasing in pitch, louder than the first and more unhinged. His chest hurt from yelling and the effort of filling his lungs as he chased a path he imagined Isak’s ghost left behind.

Stumbling to a halt at the water’s edge, he cast his gaze out across the water. Trees and bushes crept over every bit of ground right up to the banks in most places, creating pitch-dark shadows. The lake itself was larger than two football pitches—length to length. 

Where the fuck did he start? 

“ _ Isak _ !” his voice was insistent but lonely. Ignoring the cold that cut to the bone, through damp layers, he began to jog, skirting the body of water. The smooth unbroken surface gave relief that Even didn’t want to acknowledge. That would mean paying attention to the worst scenario that had screamed the loudest from the back of his skull. But what if Isak was headed somewhere else? He could have gone to the sea after all—just decided to walk. Maybe he’d got stuck or lost along the way.

This sure decision soon became ripe with self-doubt. Yet if he was wrong, where did he look next? Would he drive along the roads to the coast? Which route did he choose? Tears of frustration began to fall as he called out Isak’s name, again and again, until his throat was raw. There was no movement anywhere, no new points of interest despite now being on the opposite end of the lake. 

Looking over to the parking lot, Even weighed his choices. Helplessness did nothing to ease the mounting frustration and anger. He had to keep moving. Before circling back to the car, he would try once more to call. Placing the cold face of his phone to his cheek, Even watched the water with a lifeless gaze as he listened to the dial tone, knowing it wouldn’t be picked up, knowing that he wouldn’t hear it ring out in the dark. A sorry sob shuddered from him as the mounting grief grew in strength. 

Hand dropping, Even went to hang up when something caught his eye. Near a shadow cast by a gnarly oak, branches low and dipping into the water, was a flash of light. Numb thumb stabbing at the screen, he dialled Isak once again.  _ There _ . The light flashed again. 

On-off, on-off; a morse code. 

Body not waiting for his brain’s approval, Even was moving. He hurtled across soggy mud and stumbled over roots until his knees crashed into the soft ground near a shape that could have been just another old root. 

“ _ Isak _ ,” Even hissed as his cold useless hands fumbled over the limp body he’d found. Isak was soaked to the waist in water and frigid enough Even’s numbed touch could feel the temperature difference. Pulling him into his arms, Even cradled him to his chest, smoothing hair back from bluish-white skin. But Isak didn’t stir. “Fuck, baby, what did you do?” he muttered, harsher than was necessary given that no one was paying him any mind except the trees. If he didn’t harden he would break. Right now someone had to be whole. 

Palm resting on his neck Even sighed out a small measure of consolation finding a pulse, albeit lazy—it was there. He began to rock back and forth while dialling emergency services. A too calm voice answered, and his own spoke back sounding as lifeless as Isak felt. It was the shock he knew, working on auto-pilot. And it wasn’t the first time he’d had to be calm after a collision, masking his own reactions. He could feel later. 

_ “Stay on the line, OK?” _

“Sure.”

_ “Do you know what he’s taken?” _

Even scoured the ground around him. “There’s a bottle of vodka, it’s empty. He’s cold— _ freezing _ , but he’s not shivering. And his pulse is so weak. I don’t know about anything else—” he cut off as Isak’s phone lit up silently again, Sonja’s name on the screen. The phone had been placed on top of a small bag. “There’s a plastic bag. It’s empty. I don’t know what that means, I’m sorry.”

_ “It’s OK, Even. Listen, it’s going to be OK. The ambulance is on its way.” _

“His phone is ringing, can I answer?”

_ “Sure, I’ll stay on the line until the paramedics reach you.” _

Reaching across Isak, lying deathly still, Even slid his thumb across the screen. “Sonja.”

There was a pause. “ _ Even? You found him? _ ” But her relief quickly turned to worry, realising if Even answered it must mean something was wrong. “ _ Is he— _ ” 

“I’m waiting for an ambulance. He’s… not OK. I’m staying with him, but I have to go. They’ll be here soon.” The very fact he could communicate so thoroughly was shocking, given how thick the fog was in his mind. 

_ “To the hospital?” _

“Yes.” Although where else Sonja may have thought an ambulance would take them he wasn’t sure. She was probably in shock, too. 

“ _ OK, OK, _ ” he could hear her begin to panic but there was nothing he could do for her right now. “ _ Call when you can. _ ”

“Will do.”

Hanging up, Even began to fret. What could he do to keep himself thinking practically? If he stopped and waited, emotions were bound to overcome him. Clearing his throat, he returned to the first calming voice. “Should I move him closer to the road?” 

_ “Are you far from it?” _

“Two—three hundred yards? There’s trees and bushes…” 

_ “If you can without hurting yourself—or him, it’ll save them time when they arrive.” _

“I can do it.”

Putting the call on loudspeaker, his phone joined Isak’s in his pocket. Then Even slid his arms around him, unable to stop from humming a soothing noise. “I’ve got you, OK. It’s gonna be OK. You’re not going anywhere without me.” On his feet and moving, Even gripped Isak tighter to him. “We’re supposed to be at a restaurant right now, you know?” he reprimanded with an unnerving laugh. “And then I booked a suite at a hotel… we would be looking out over the city drinking fucking sparkling orange juice.” Nose pushing into damp hair Even kissed Isak’s forehead. But it brought him no comfort; Isak was much too cold, too lifeless. 

Fear overtook Even. 

“Baby please don’t leave me.” 


	30. Innocent Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris stared her down, just like Even had done earlier. “You always say be careful of your words—you can’t take them back.”
> 
> “I messed up.”

###  Innocent Truth 

Staring at her phone, Sonja was empty. The tumultuous ride of upset and confusion had come to an end on this. Now she was left with nothing but culpability—that was nothing new.

Quick words, deep scars. 

Sonja knew that—knew better than how she’d acted. Frustration bubbled away but she ignored it. Wishing that someone had told her what Isak had been through—whatever it was—and given her the heads up so she could have taken that into account, was nothing more than an excuse. If she’d made herself a little more available to everyone, maybe she would know Isak as well as Even seemed to. 

And she thought Isak had been the bad friend? Who else was she going to let down?

Yet it was still complex, her emotions, as absent as they were in this still and quiet loneliness. The day had upturned her thoughts and plans, she’d discovered things that were right under her nose. Everything had shifted beneath her feet and it was impossible to know how to feel—or how she  _ should _ feel. The knee jerk reaction to perceived betrayal was lessened but it still kicked. Being kept in the dark wasn’t pleasant.

That’s how Even had lived these last few years. 

A crashing noise saved her from that sharp reflective thought before it could do more damage. The door, closing and abruptly forcing her from her thoughts. She frowned across the dining room table, through the arch, but no one entered. It wasn’t Even—it couldn’t be. The lack of footsteps meant someone had left. No sooner had she realised what that meant, Sonja was running across the living room, yanking open the front door and hurtling to the end of the path. A small dark shape was walking briskly down the road. 

“Chris!” she called, casting a look nervously behind her to the house. Bo was still fast asleep inside, she wouldn’t be long. A few more seconds of jogging and she reached out for her daughter, snagging her coat. “What are you doing?”

Christina turned, jutting her chin into the air stubbornly. “I’m going to the hospital.”

Taking her in, Sonja noticed the bag on her back and the small bowl of fruit she clutched to her chest—taken from the coffee table in the living room, completely prepared to walk if she must. Despite everything, her daughter so fiercely adamant and doing something so good brought Sonja warmth. She must have overheard the phone call. Sinking down to Christina’s level, Sonja worried her lip. “You can’t just walk to the hospital.”

“Yes I can.”

“But it’s late, sweetheart—”

“I don’t care. Isak must be hurt and  _ you _ said  _ you _ never wanted him back. So  _ I’m _ going.” Another overheard conversation. More scars. More harm. The knot of fear that had lived in her for years pulled tighter. Her nightmares coming to life, her child choosing someone over her, and she would have no one to blame for it but herself. 

But this wasn’t about  _ that _ . Sonja scolded herself for making it about her when this was about her daughter’s anguish. Forcing a deep breath, she needed to find a way to be the calm one, the one who knew what to do—like Even. She could keep things together here. “You know what, I said things today that I shouldn’t have, and that you should never have heard. I was upset, but that’s no excuse.”

Jaw still firm, Chris stared her down, just like Even had done earlier. “You  _ always _ say be careful of your words—you can’t take them back.”

“I messed up.”

Her lower lip trembled. “But why? He’s my friend. He would never do  _ anything _ to hurt  _ anyone _ , I just  _ know _ it.”

A tear broke from her lashes and Sonja quickly wiped it away. They couldn’t both cry, and Chris had already seen enough emotions today that she shouldn’t have to take on. It wasn’t her responsibility. “I know,” Sonja admitted. It took the small and honest voice of her daughter to remind her of the truth, once and for all. “And I’m sorry—believe me. But Daddy is with him now, and he’s going to make sure Isak is OK. He’s going to call when he can, but we have to wait otherwise we won’t know where to find him.”

Christina held her eyes for a long moment, before nodding and letting out a sob. “I’m scared he’s hurt.”

Sonja pulled her close, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter. “When you’re ill, who is the one person on earth who can make it better?” 

Sniffling, she looked up, tears shining in the moonlight. “Daddy.”

“Exactly. He’s gonna make it OK. And then we will help, and we can take this,” she nodded down at the bowl held between them awkwardly. 

“It’s fruit.”

“I know.”

“It’s what you’re supposed to take.”

Humming, Sonja smiled, smoothing back her hair as it whipped around in the breeze. “How about we get hot cocoa while we wait for Daddy to call? And then when we can go see Isak, we’ll pick up some fresh fruit on the way.”

Chris grinned. “And sweets? Jelly tots are his favourite.”

“Of course.” 

“Mum?” Sonja hummed a yes as they walked back towards the house. “You know I love you, more than anything—well, with Dad and Bo—right? I don’t want another mummy.”

How much had she heard? 

It was dark enough, Chris’s view of her face obstructed enough, for Sonja to let a single tear free. Her sweet daughter’s voice gave her absolution she didn’t deserve right now. But there was no way she would reject it. “I know, sweetheart. And I love you more than the world.”

“What about coffee?”

Sonja snorted a laugh. “Much more than coffee.”

“And mum?”

Sonja hummed again, amused and never exhausted by Christina’s neverending line of questions. 

“Is Isak Daddy’s boyfriend now?”


	31. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everyone is fighting battles we don’t see, even if you’re with that person every day you might not know.”

###  Warmth

Wheels over vinyl pulled him out of the deep. There’d been moments before when resurfacing was within arms reach, yet Isak was always tugged back down. But the squeaking neared, metal clinked as it did, and then receded. 

What was it?

It was so bright he couldn’t open his eyes at first, but he was warm. Warmth had been a faraway thing in his last memories. Memories of hurt, confusion, vodka, drugs. 

His mum. 

Isak inhaled sharply as he pushed himself up, forcing himself to open his eyes. Immediately his hand flew to his neck, sore and irritated from simply breathing—a familiar sensation to him. Next came the smells along with his muscles all screaming at the same time. Bile rose, searing as it did so, but he ignored it. His nightmare was repeating itself but this time, there would be no one here—

“Isak, it’s OK. You’re in the hospital,” a soft voice cooed by his side. A voice that Isak wouldn’t have dreamed he would hear again. A brief glance to the chair at his left confirmed that it wasn’t his imagination. Now there was a new desire—escape—but a warm hand stilled that reaction as it reached out to land on his. It squeezed in comfort. 

“Sonja, what are you—” Isak stopped to swallow again. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was to talk after. “You shouldn’t be here—”

“I wanted to be here,” she said softly. Her hand rubbed his arm before she pulled back. “How do you feel?”

Shaking his head, Isak left that as his answer. What did it matter how he felt? How’d he gotten here? Why was  _ she _ here? This didn’t make sense. His gaze darted around the room. There was a bowl of fruit on a table with a card, too far away to read. “How?” he whispered. “Why…” he trailed off, not sure how to ask without seeming ungrateful. 

“Even found you.” Isak closed his eyes, trying to shrink inside of himself. The tightness of emotions in his throat did nothing to help the pain already there. “He stayed with you all night. I managed to persuade him to let me come so he could go shower at home, get some clean clothes. I was hoping he’d be back before you woke up.”

Isak could only nod, staring into his lap. There were so many things he wanted to ask but there was a wall between his inner thoughts and his tongue. “He shouldn’t have to come back,” he managed to murmur. The fact that Even had seen him like this was already too much. 

Sonja snorted. “Do you wanna try and stop him?” Crumbling, Isak let the strength go he was futilely grasping. His head sunk into the pillow, eyes closing on the tears now hot behind his lashes. There came a low shushing before Sonja’s hand returned to grip his in reassurance. “Isak,” she began, he heard her sit forward as her voice stayed low. “I’m not the best person when it comes to—well, comforting. That’s Even’s strength. But, erm…” she worried over the words. “I’m sorry, I am. I said things— “

Isak shook his head. “You said the truth.”

“No, I didn’t,” she impressed, fingers tightening. “Most of it was complete bullshit—if not all of it. I was hurt and confused, but I should have listened. I’ve not been very good at that lately, or being present… or even seeing what everyone else could,” a soft snort of laughter punctuated the statement. “I should have known really. The way he talks about you and smiles  _ that _ smile.” Daring to look at her, Isak found no hint of disgust. She was smiling herself, half amused and the rest moved. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Had she been crying? 

“But I should have told you,” he said. She’d been right there, no matter what she said now. 

Sonja chewed her lip before answering. “Yes, maybe. Or Even—if only because I wish I hadn’t found out like I did. But then I only have myself to blame for that.,” she shrugged. “I know you both, I know that it isn’t anything...  _ sordid _ . Besides, I have no ground to stand when it comes to dishonesty. I think you know that.” Her eyes met his and held them firmly, strengthened somehow against the fear of being seen by Isak for what she was or what she’d done. 

“We’re all just trying,” he managed to say as he flushed. Isak wanted her to know he hadn’t judged her without digging too much into sensitive topics. “It’s hard,” he added in a whisper. “But we were going to, we  _ wanted _ to. Even, I think, would have already, I just said we should wait because you guys had to figure out other things first. I didn’t want to be the one to make everything worse.”

There was a soft sigh before a rueful chuckle came. “We did pretty good at making things worse on our own, Isak. The only thing you ever did was make things better.” They reached a peaceful impasse, despite his inability to fully accept her words. Isak took the opportunity to try to get his head around their conversation and what it meant—for everyone. 

Clearing her throat, he focussed on what else she wanted to say. “While I was sitting here the nurses changed over—notes and whatever,” she huffed nervously before continuing. “They said… they said this happened before?” Isak closed his eyes again, the wall coming back up. At least Even hadn’t been the one who’d had to tell her. “And then I was thinking— _ really thinking _ —about those times you always passed up wine or beer.  _ I _ gave you that fucking vodka...” Her tone was full of frustration and ire as her statement drifted off to its own inaccurate conclusion. Sonja was blaming herself.

“You can’t blame yourself for this?” Isak asserted quickly. “Sonja? I did this.”

“If I’d been a better friend maybe I would have known.”

It was his turn to find her fingers, squeezing reassurance back that he’d been offered moments earlier. “Everyone is fighting battles we don’t see, even if you’re with that person every day you might not know.”

Sniffing, she nodded, wiping her sleeve across her cheek. That sentiment was true for them all. “How about we both draw a line under guilt?”

“Deal.” At least there was a truce to be found here—between him and Sonja. Isak wasn’t sure he’d be able to look Even in the eye, not now he’d seen him at his worst. “Are the kids OK?” he asked to move the conversation and his thoughts forward.

“Yeah, I dropped them off at their grandparents. It wasn’t easy, Chris was adamant about seeing you. I told her you were asleep and that she should make the gingerbread house she promised you. She  _ did _ pick out the fruit though,” Sonja added with a nod towards the bowl. “The sweets she kept for now—to decorate the gingerbread house.” 

“Jelly tots?”

“Yup.”

Isak snorted a laugh. “I bet I won’t see them again,” he mused, looking towards the fruit bowl he’d been given. And the card, too. That would be nice to read. Isak could see his keys and wallet were there, as well as his dirty clothes—folded. Something was missing, and it brought him back to the concern that had jolted him from his stupor in the first place: his mum.

“Where’s my phone?”

“I think Even had it.”

Opening his mouth, Isak was about to ask whether he might borrow Sonja’s. He needed to call home. But a light tapping came at the entrance to announce a visitor. Isak found an unfamiliar face, smiling in at him. The uniform gave away who it was before introductions were made. 

“One of the nurses said you were awake, Isak. I’m Doctor Larzen. I just need to talk to you for a bit and take some observations. Is that OK?”

Isak nodded. “Sure.”

Sonja stood before the attention turned to her. “I’ll wait outside,” she squeezed his hand once more before grabbing her bag and moving for the door. 

His mum would have to wait a little longer. 


	32. Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think he’s apprehensive… about seeing you.” Sonja approached him, lightly dusting a hair from the arm of his coat. 

###  Impressions

With each ring of the dial tone, Even’s nerves seemed to sharpen. Phone calls had never terrified him before yesterday. Why would this make him so nervous? Taking measured breaths, he scanned the outside of the hospital, impatient to be back with Isak already but with this one job to do. 

And it was important—for him especially. 

“ _ Isak _ ?”

Even cleared his throat. “No, this is Even. Is that Mrs Valtersen?”

Her inhale was full of concern—Even wasn’t sure how he could hear it. Maybe it was a parent thing. “ _ It is. Is he OK? I’ve been calling and calling.” _

“He’s fine—he’s safe now. He, erm—” What could he say? “He took an overdose last night, but I found him and got him to the hospital.” There was a pause on the other end as she absorbed what was being said. “I had his phone, sorry I didn’t answer. It was just—” his voice began to pick up pace, the panic from last night easily sowing its way into his words. 

_ “You’re calling now. That’s all that matters.” _ She sighed before continuing.  _ “I will kill him. What was he thinking?”  _ Yet her tone belied her, it spoke of tears near the surface.

“It’s not his fault. There was something that happened here. Things got messy and I wasn’t with him. I didn’t know, until—”

_ “Lea,” _ she interjected,  _ “she said he sounded upset when she spoke to him, I had an accident yesterday—I fell. Ended up in the hospital myself. What a pair,” _ she huffed a mirthless laugh. 

“Are you OK?” 

There was an amused hum before her response.  _ “Course I am. It’ll take more than a little knock to do me any damage.” _

Even smiled. “I’ll make sure he knows, and that he calls you—as soon as he can.”

_ “And you? `How are you doing? I know what you did wasn’t easy—I’ve been there.” _

Licking his lips, Even considered how to answer that. In truth, he’d never been so scared as he was last night. Yet there’d been a lull, once Isak was treated and rested, where Even had found some quiet. He’d let himself cry: fear, anguish, anger—they’d flowed out of him. There would still be some discomfort, there was always some talking to do, but they could heal now. “I think I’m alright. I haven’t spoken to Isak yet, he’s asleep still. But I’m gonna be OK.”

“ _ Good _ ,” she said perfunctorily before a thoughtful quiet stretched out.  _ “I’ll never ask Isak, so can you tell me? The drama—is it about you both?” _

“It is,” Even admitted without hesitation. “There were a lot of misunderstandings—ones that have been cleared up now. I won’t let him get hurt again. I’m going to look after him, I promise. I know the promise of a stranger won’t mean much but I’ll prove it.” 

There was another sigh, this one softer—perhaps wistful.  _ “Isak is in love with you, Even. He’s never told me but I know him.”  _ It was offered as a warning, in case Even had gotten himself involved in something that was deeper than he’d assumed. They’d spoken for all of a minute and she was mothering him already.

Even decided he liked Mrs Valtersen.

“I love him, too. He deserves so much—I want to be the one that gives it to him. And I’m sorry this is how we’re being introduced. I’d imagined it would be different. This isn’t the best first impression and I might have been on the back foot already.”

The chuckle that came now held warmth.  _ “There’s plenty of time for impressions. We all make messes from time to time—it’s the clean up that counts. Sounds like you’re doing all you can. Just make sure he calls, or you do. You don’t want me to drive the four hours down to throttle you both—and I will don’t think I won’t.” _

It was Even’s turn to laugh, the first bit of levity he’d felt since saying goodbye to Isak yesterday morning. Was it only yesterday? It felt like a week had passed in one night. “Yes, ma’am.” 

_ “Good. I’ll let you get back to him.” _

“We’ll speak soon.”

_ “We will.” _

Even was striding through the reception before the call ended. The stairs he took two at a time, and the corridors he jogged until he found Sonja in a waiting area.

“Everything OK?” 

She nodded before letting out a calm sigh. Standing her bag was shouldered. “He’s awake, just talking to the Doctor.”

“He is?” Subconsciously, Even smoothed down his shirt over his stomach. Nerves were back and for no good reason. “Good,” he said, hesitating to ask the question that begged. “And did you talk?”

“We did. It was good.” If her smile was anything to go by that was an understatement. “I think he’s apprehensive… about seeing you.” Sonja approached him, lightly dusting a hair from the arm of his coat—preening him. 

“Apprehensive?”

She hummed. “Of course. It was a low point you saw. I’m sure he will feel…” she shrugged, struggling to put a name on it as her arm dropped to her side. “Shame, I guess.”

That was a notion he would wipe away as soon as it surfaced. What should Isak, of all people, feel shame over? “Thank you, for being here, for talking to him.” 

“It was my responsibility,” she stated, straightening as her coat was pulled on. “And now I have to get back to two other responsibilities— _ and _ a gingerbread house.” They stood still for a moment, unsure how to be with one another now the dust had settled. They’d figure it out. 

“I’ll be back, I’ll let you know when.”

With a last nod and smile, she made her exit. Even was left steeling himself before making for the room he’d last seen Isak fast asleep within. The Doctor was at the door, backing out, as he reached it. 

“And I’ll come to speak to you later before you’re discharged. OK?” 

“Sure.”

Even shifted impatiently where he stood, the gentle sound of Isak’s voice answering the Doctor bringing a wave of peace to him. He was OK. Everything was going to be OK. A curt nod was directed his way before the Doctor moved on, down the hall and onto other patients. Even took his place in the doorway. 

Isak lay still in the bed, gazing out of the window, giving Even a clear view of his perfect profile. It was calm, sunlight spilt into the room bringing warmth and Isak glowed. Skin clear and pink, hair golden brown, expression peaceful. It would take a lot to lessen the images Even held from the night before, the cold and the blue of the body he adored, and the feeling of utter helplessness. But this was a perfect snapshot to begin the process of healing. 

“Are you accepting visitors?” Even cursed himself at not holding back a little longer because as soon as he’d spoken Isak’s calm features became apprehensive—creasing brow and fists tightening in the sheets. He gaped, pulling the blankets further over himself before his eyes were cast down, face tilting away. 

“Of course,” came the whispered reply. 

His steps were measured as he approached, weighing the situation. Instead of the chair, Even lowered himself gently to sit on the bed, letting out a sigh as he stared at the side of Isak’s face. His lips turned down at the corners, firm against rebelling emotions. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you awake.” 

That was the wrong place to start, evidenced by the way Isak closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I worried you,” he murmured. 

Perhaps touch was too much right now. Even would have to find a way with words. “You don’t have to apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Isak huffed in disagreement. “I overdosed. That’s not… it’s the second time like I didn’t learn the first time it was a shitty thing to do. I wasn’t doing it for attention, I had zero intentions other than to just fucking stop thinking.”

“I know,” Even put in softly.

That brought around Isak’s focus, green eyes coming to rest on him. “Do you?” he asked, unbelieving of that fact. 

“I do.” 

Isak shook his head slowly. “I’m a liability you don’t need. We have an argument, and then what? I’ll decide to get wasted, get my stomach pumped every time we don’t agree on dinner?” 

Even would laugh if it weren’t such a serious topic. But that just wasn’t who Isak was, Even had to remind him of that. “You know that’s not you. This wasn’t anything near normal circumstances.”

Snorting, Isak struggled for a rebuff. “Just because Sonja was pissed with me?”

“No. You know that’s not just it. I spoke to your mum, I know she was hurt and you spoke to Lea. That can’t have helped.” Isak’s mouth worked fruitlessly. “And she’s fine by the way, you’re gonna call and speak to her as soon as you get discharged.”

Eventually, words were found. “Thank you for calling her.” Even watched as Isak swallowed down the upset threatening to spill over. “It was my fault.” 

“What was?” 

“My mum. I called her and she was in the garden sorting out the paving  _ I _ promised to do. She hurt herself coming in, to answer the phone— _ my _ call.”

Face softening in sympathy, Even shook his head. “Baby that’s not your fault. It was bad timing. You can’t blame yourself for that—I won’t let you.”

An expression broke across Isak’s features, a torturous fight between amusement and pain. “But it was me—hurting everyone. That’s… that’s how I felt, last night. Even the kids because I thought I’d made things so much worse for you and Sonja. I just wanted to forget, and I felt like I didn’t have a right to hurt, not when I’d done so much.” 

“And do you feel the same now?” The light of day changes many things.

Isak looked inward before shaking his head. “Speaking to Sonja helped,” he admitted.

“Good. I’m glad.” But he  _ had _ believed it—Even could see this soft soul, broken by past mistakes and on the verge of cracking open once more across those ancient lines. “I understand how you did feel, I might disagree but I can see how you felt that way last night. Perhaps, if those feelings ever come back we can have an emergency plan? You can call me, text me even if I’m in the same room.” 

Isak’s eyes were wide, lips parted. “But you shouldn’t want me around. What about the kids—”

Even cut him off, shushing him. “Stop.  _ Stop _ , Isak. You think it wouldn’t do more damage to the kids taking their new best friend away?” 

Head still shaking in a final attempt to argue, Isak stuttered out a reply. “But I’m a mess, Even.” A tear made a silent path down his cheek, quickly followed by another.

“Who isn’t? My mess is yours and your mess is mine, now. No take-backs.” 

A sob finally broke free of Isak’s chest, Eyes closing once more against the tears that came. “I don’t want you to feel you have to save me,” he managed to whisper, voice hitching between words as his pain was finally allowed to pour free. “That’s not fair.”

Now was the time, Even knew, as he reached out, fingers combing through Isak’s hair, smoothing his thumb over his wet cheek. “Why shouldn’t I when you saved me?” Even’s eyes were just as damp, Isak let out another sob. “That’s what we do.” Isak gripped his arm, clutching tightly. 

“I missed you,” the words were barely there. They would never fail to torture Even’s heart with the moments they missed away from each other. He would never get enough, his soul knew where it needed to be.

“Me too, so much baby. Can I lay with you?” Isak nodded before shifting to one side and Even swiftly eased in next to him. No sooner was his back to the mattress, he’d brought Isak into his arms, to lay on his chest. Even rubbed soothing patterns up and down Isak’s spine as he released his fear and shame and relief in the shape of tears. 

Slowly, they came to a gentle standstill, lulled by easy breaths. Isak’s face was buried in his neck and their limbs twined tightly together. It was going to be OK.

“I do have some good news, I was gonna tell you last night.”

Sniffing, Isak tilted his face up. “What news?”

“Well, I bumped into the owner of the building—at work. It turns out he has an empty apartment on the top floor—three bedrooms.” 

“Are you serious?” 

Even hummed a yes, content with the smile Isak wore. “He likes us enough to give me a discount, I already have the keys and can move in whenever. It’s semi-furnished so I don’t have to start from scratch.”

Head resting next to his on the pillow, Isak gazed at him—peace and warmth were back. Hospital room aside, they created bliss wherever they were, even after the toughest storms had passed. “That’s amazing, baby.” 

“It is. And the master bedroom has a sea view. We can check it out later, cos you’re coming home with me.” Edging across the pillow, Even nudged his nose against Isak’s. Isak’s fingers were in his hair, caressing him, encouraging the closeness and beckoning a kiss. How could Even ever say no?

Isak murmured one soft word before their lips met, “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments I get, FYI (It's a vast understatement, I get a massive thrill from seeing your feedback and what you like, what you don't like... etc... it literally means the world (yes, I know I say that a lot)). 
> 
> I still have a couple to reply to from my last update, and I will ASAP <3 I just need to step away from the computer for a moment. Don't be shy, let me know what you think <3
> 
> (side note: the song I was listening to while outlining Even's interaction with Isak is [Vance Joy's "Mess Is Mine"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1C816p-KTNk) \- you can see a quote from it in here. It's a wonderful song I would totes rec... and totally is them <3)


	33. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on. I’m not that bad,” Even argued. 
> 
> But the disbelieving look on Mikael’s face said that wasn’t the case. “Sure, thing buddy,” his answer laden with sarcasm. “I just would have thought with him being closer you would pine a little less. Sometimes I literally catch you staring at the ceiling as if you can look through several layers of concrete.” 
> 
> “I’m not pining.” Mikael raised an eyebrow—a comeback enough on its own. There would be no convincing him otherwise. “Well if I am it’s because he’s just there,” Even nodded upwards, “all walking around in his boxers and... stuff.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a plethora of apologies is in order. I'm so so so sorry to make you wait so long for this final chapter. Partly I'm terrified of finishing things, and mostly I'm terrified of finishing things. Added into that Covid and the bonus that is isolation and homeschooling and all the issues we're collectively suffering... things have been a cluster fuck and a half. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this makes up for the wait, or at least partially. I am eternally grateful for your patience and your support along with this story, thank you for the messages and comments, the kudos and love. Even if you're a ninja reader who doesn't know what to comment, I very much appreciate the views you've given this story. SKAMily truly is the best. I do intend to edit this story into an original so absolutely any feedback, positive, negative, constructive, or otherwise, really are very welcome (it will help me see the wood for the trees, and I am literally a slut for critique). 
> 
> I guess I'll go look at my other WIP's *sheepish grimace* 
> 
> I love you all.  
> Becs
> 
> (also I am catching up with comments, if you didn't get a response from me on the last offering all those months ago, it is coming, I just haven't been able to do ... anything, but 3am is not the time)

###  Mirrors 

“Green or blue?” Chris held the small bottles up for Bo’s inspection as the question was posed.

“Geen,” he giggled, chubby fingers reaching for the desired colour. 

_ “So, the home office doubles as a beauty spa?”  _ Even asked. The loudspeaker was on so he would be able to hear all of the commotions, clear as crystal.

“It would seem so,” Sonja mused, distracted from the email she’d been trying to write. But that was no big deal, this was out of her working hours anyway. Work could wait—that was her new mantra. 

_ “Don’t forget his toenails, Chris.” _

Christina snorted before replying over her shoulder, “I did those first. I’m not an amateur, dad. Bo picked pink—he has absolutely no idea when it comes to fashion,” she tsked, shaking her head before returning to her work, bent over her brother’s hands and applying a liberal dollop of varnish to each fingernail. 

To Bo’s credit, he stayed perfectly still, mesmerized by whatever magic his sister worked. He had years of practice at being the patient, or in this case the customer. “‘Ris, dat tickles,” he giggled. The applicator brush wasn’t being wielded with much precision, half his pinkie finger was coated. 

“Just be careful that it doesn't go all over the floor,” Sonja reminded, for perhaps the third time. 

_ “What’s this for again?” _

“She’s making a video.”

_ “Oh, it’s being recorded?” _

“No, this is the trial run.”

Even snorted.  _ “Foreplanning. That’s very smart, Chris.” _

Chris beamed to herself. “Thank you, Daddy. I’ll make sure we paint your nails next week. Think about what colour you want, OK?”

_ “Sounds like… fun?” _ he said, half questioning himself. Sonja grinned at the hesitation in his reaction. Clearing his throat, he spoke again before she could suggest a face mask was thrown into the deal, complete with sliced cucumbers—now  _ that _ would need to be recorded.  _ “Son, can we talk about the… erm… thing?” _

She took him off speakerphone, but Chris had an altogether too focussed expression on her face for her  _ not _ to be listening keenly. She was on to them already. “We can now.” 

_ “Isak said you’d be OK with the party at The Caprice.” _

“Yup. I think it would work well, that’s if you’re sure it’s not gonna inconvenience you and Mikael.”

_ “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to do it. It’s her first proper party, I want it to be special.” _

Sonja found it hard to argue against that. She was willing to do whatever it took to make it unique herself. Every year, Christina’s birthdays had ended up being a day out—museum or winter funfair—or an excuse to go and see family that lived further away, like Sonja’s parents. Chris had always been thrilled with whatever they’d done, relishing the chance at being in charge of the where they would visit and what they would eat. Chris was many things but never self-centred—she never asked for much. She’d never asked for a party before and Sonja figured it was about time. 

“Me too. We were looking at props yesterday.”

Even laughed. She was getting used to the ease they’d quickly found. Somehow, after everything, they’d managed to salvage their friendship—buried, as it was, under years of discontent.  _ “Isak showed me. A beach party in December is gonna be pretty memorable. She’ll lose her mind.” _

“I hope so,” she said, seeking out her daughter, now outwardly engrossed with blowing Bo’s freshly painted nails. Sonja knew she was trying to listen in, Chris was smart and always knew when there was something going on behind her back. She’d probably already made the connection between the whispers and her birthday. Sonja hoped they could keep it a secret until everyone jumped from their hiding spots, shouting  _ Happy Birthday _ on the actual day.

_ “Isak said he’d take some invites into nature school next week.” _

“We discussed that, too.”

“ _ It looks like I’m the last to know then, _ ” he muttered, a note of amusement in his voice. That would be novel for him—to be the last in the know. There was a pause before Even changed the course of the conversation.  _ “You sure you’ll be OK this weekend? You know you can just call me, or Isak, if you’re feeling low or—” _

Snorting, she cut him off. “I’ll be fine, Even, thank you. Chris has been turning nights into competitions over who can stay up later—me or her, and every morning I somehow wake up with Bo wrapped around me.” She huffed a laugh. There wasn’t really a chance to feel alone, or, more importantly, unloved. Even had done the utmost to assure her he was there, if she needed to be on her own or had plans—not quite alluding to date nights but being awkward enough around the wording of the proposal to make it clear. He wanted her to keep maintaining her own time and space and life. Dates were out of the window for the foreseeable future—she wanted to focus on her, get to know herself once more. But that was her own business. 

_ “He makes a pretty good teddy bear.” _

“He does.”

Chris cleared her throat as she stood in front of Sonja, dangling two small bottles: black and red. “Which one? It’s your turn.” 

“I better go, I’m a client now, apparently,” she said into the phone. 

_ “We’ll catch up when we get back—about the thing. We’re planning to drive back Sunday evening. I can get the kids before lunch on Monday if that works?” _

“No need. We’re coming to Isak’s painting workshop, so we’ll come to you.” It was the very first workshop. Isak had mentioned in passing yesterday, flustered and stuttering, that they could come, if they wanted to. Sonja wouldn't miss the chance to support him—not that he truly needed it, and Chris was already making sketches of what she planned to draw. 

_ “He’ll love that, _ ” Even softly said, appreciation clear.

“I’m sure we will, too. Have an awesome weekend and make a good impression,” she mused before adding, “but don’t have  _ too _ much fun, OK? I think you’re too old for excitement.”

Another laugh said the jest was received as intended. “ _ Ditto _ .”

* * *

Returning his focus to the screen in front of him, Even tried to recall what he’d been doing.  _ Bookkeeping _ . That was it.

He began at the top of the column again, scanning along each row to look for irregularities or formulas that weren’t working. Mikael and he were pretty attentive when it came to this side of the business, but you couldn’t be too sure. Double-checking never hurt. Then after this, he would order stock for the weekend…

He sighed. Glancing down at his phone, Even hesitated. He probably shouldn’t split his focus between this monotonous task and the most dangerous temptation on earth but before a sound argument had established itself in his mind, he’d already opened a text. 

**What are you up to**

It was a mistake he knew. When it came to Isak he had zero will power, and the bubbles already said a reply was on the way. It was the best mistake he would never stop making.

**_I’m talking to mum, packing, and cooking_ **

**So domestic…**

**_Shut up_ **

**I love it when you’re bossy**

**_Swear to god you’re hopeless_ **

Even chewed his lip. There was no office, or spreadsheets, or stock. His imagination was somewhere else—four flights up. 

**What are you wearing?**

**_Seriously?_ **

**Deadly**

**_Jesus. Hold on._ **

He couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he imagined Isak rolling his eyes, but giving himself away with the flush that would bloom in his cheeks. At this point, Isak could send a photo of his ankle and it would provoke Even. The image that  _ did _ appear was taken held above Isak, his mouth just in the shot, the rest of his body down to his bare feet as he stood in the kitchen, in a plain white t-shirt and his boxers… 

**Fuck**

**_Ffs_ **

**Why are you like this?**

**_I’m not like anything… I’m *trying* to talk to my mum *and* make food_ **

**Ask what I’m wearing**

**_I know what you’re wearing, I saw you two hours ago_ **

**Ask**

**_… what are you wearing?_ **

Panning the camera down to focus in his lap, Even smoothed the material down over his cock—which was quite clearly hard already—before recording a few seconds as he rubbed his palm over the bulge it made. He hit send, snickering to himself and imagined Isak’s reaction. The laugh became deep and chesty when the reply came.

**_EVEN IM ON THE PHONE TO MY MUM_ **

A knock on the office door interrupted Even’s mirth. Scooting the chair closer to the desk he cleared his throat. “ _ Yeah _ ?” he called out. 

Mikael’s head poked around the door, a questioning look on his face. “I thought someone was in here. I could hear you laughing,” he said, walking into the office with two beers. He placed one on the desk and kept hold of the other. It was alcohol-free. Even had only mentioned once and his friend had taken note. If Isak wasn’t going to drink, neither would Even. Mikael was many things, but above all, he was the best friend anyone could ask for. 

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “No, I was working,” he gestured at the screen, “something was funny.” He shrugged casually while picking up the bottle to drink. Even hoped that would be enough to explain himself, despite being a terrible explanation. But this was his Mikael; he never missed a beat.

“Is that why you look like I just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar?” He asked with a snort. Leaning forward, he peered at the monitor. “ _ Spreadsheets _ ? They’re funny now?”

Even shook his head. “It’s just Isak. He texted me something funny.”

Mikael hummed, still unconvinced. “I will always knock from now on after  _ that _ incident. Who knows what I’ll find now.” 

“Come on. I’m not that bad,” Even argued. 

But the disbelieving look on Mikael’s face said that wasn’t the case. “Sure, thing buddy,” his answer laden with sarcasm. “I just would have thought with him being closer you would pine a little less. Sometimes I literally catch you staring at the ceiling as if you can look through several layers of concrete.” 

“I’m not pining.” Mikael raised an eyebrow—a comeback enough on its own. There would be no convincing him otherwise. “Well if I am it’s because he’s just  _ there _ ,” Even nodded upwards, “all walking around in his boxers and...  _ stuff _ .” 

Mikael snorted on the sip of beer he was taking. “Even. He’s been up there most of the week. Are you going to adjust at some point?” But it was put mildly; he might tease but he had no issue with Even’s obvious state of constant besottedness. 

The answer was pretty obvious, this wouldn’t get old anytime soon. Even shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well,” Mikael began, voice commanding, “I can’t have a lovesick member of staff on shift,” he said leaning against the desk. “I hear that shit is contagious. You may as well fuck off now. It’s quiet tonight.”

“But I have this to check, and do the stock—”

The objection was waved away, Even let his argument fall. “I can do that with my eyes closed. Besides, those commissions are gonna start coming in next week. You may as well begin your weekend away now, relax and  _ whatever _ , before you get busy.” That was a fair point, their business had taken a very definitive turn with the contract they’d landed. Which meant that, firstly, they would be financially very sound indeed, and, secondly, Even would be painting his fingers raw.

Giving his friend a considerate look, Even took another sip. The beer wasn’t so bad. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now  _ go _ , before you start doing stuff in the office again.”

If he’d wanted to, Even wouldn’t have been able to argue back. It seemed Mikael was resolute. Luckily, the conversation had given him time so his exit wasn’t embarrassingly  _ hard _ . Grabbing his coat, he stood with a sudden zero tolerance for long goodbyes. “Just text if it gets busy,” he said, making his way to the door.

“I won’t. Go, be in love.” 

With a last grin over his shoulder, Even replied, “I will.”

* * *

_ “Then you just sprinkle some cheese on top.”  _ Isak stood, hands on his hips, scowling at his phone. It was in a holder on the kitchen worktop. Even’s message still visible and the distracting thumbnail of the video he’d sent. “ _ Isak _ ?”

“Yes, mum. Sorry. I was… nevermind. Cheese on top, right?” 

_ “That’s right,” _ her voice was clear as she spoke on loudspeaker, step by step, the process to make her signature lasagna.  _ “You sure you’re OK, darling?” _

He hummed. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” 

_ “Well, you have been busy. It would be natural for you to be tired.” _

“I guess,” Isak muttered, glad that she couldn’t see his flush. Things had been busy but the sole cause of his current distraction was Even, and it was all too easily done. Cooking with a hard-on wasn’t fun at the best of times, especially while your mum’s voice was in the same room. 

_ “I’m looking forward to catching up with you this weekend. Lea wanted to talk about Christmas plans—she wants us to come visit you—and Eva stopped by again. It’s nice to see her doing so well.”  _ She sighed a contentedly. When Isak had burned bridges it had extended to her as well, and his mum had known Eva since they were in nursery. Rekindling a relationship that had been almost daughter-motherly in nature would be nice, to say the least. 

The grudge Isak had held for so long against his sister had dissipated so much he was actually enthused by the idea of them visiting at Christmas. But that conversation could wait—the mention of Eva took priority. “She’s doing well?” he asked cautiously.

She hummed.  _ “Yes, dumped that idiot she was dating ages ago. Got back with her first love, apparently. Now they’re engaged. _ ” 

Isak stopped in his tracks. That was positive for Eva, not that he could ever tell her that. Why had they broken up? Had he fucked around again and got caught out? “I’m glad she’s happy,” he muttered. Lost in his own thoughts, he began to rehome ingredients.

_ “She is, and you’ll get to talk with her yourself.” _

Spluttering in shock, Isak closed the fridge door. “What do you mean?”

_ “I invited her to this gathering thing we’re all going to Saturday night. I know I didn’t ask but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It’s at a restaurant—the cheese guy from the market owns it.”  _ The last bit of information was tagged onto the end like it was inconsequential. 

Hesitating, he wasn’t sure what to attack first: being invited somewhere without being asked, his ex-best friend being included in the plans, or the cheese guy. Given that Isak did owe her his time and attention the first point lost it’s worth, as did Eva because if she was willing to come, considering she’d know Isak would be there, that seemed positive. So, it was on to the last point… “ _ The cheese guy?  _ Mum, did he ask you on a date? Is this a date? Jesus,  _ this _ explains your sudden cheese enthusiasm. How did I miss— _ wait _ —are you inviting your son and his partner along to your date? Is it that serious?”

Her nervous laugh confirmed at least one of those questions.  _ “No, no you think too much into things. It’s nothing really. And you guys might be too tired to go, you know? I won’t mind. You could invite Eva to the house instead. The newness of you two lovebirds living together I’m sure doesn’t help with the fatigue, _ ” she stuttered, diverting the topic deftly. 

And Isak let himself take the bait, if only for her modesty. But he was not done with this investigation, Lea was bound to know more. “We’re  _ not _ living together,” he stated. Technically, that was correct—he still had his dorm room. No one else had to know that it’s primary function right now was collecting dust. 

“ _ Sure _ ,” she said, too lightly. She didn’t buy it. “ _ I can’t wait to come visit you both. And see your new business. It’s so exciting, Isak. Are you excited? I bet you are. The place looks so good—I can't believe Even did all that. Well, I can, he’s such a sweetheart...” _ she trailed off with a sigh, voice giddy. It was the effect Even had on her. Isak could relate. 

But he  _ was _ excited—and nervous on top of that. The next stage of his life was brand new, there were so many possibilities. He’d also shared the same astounded reaction she’d shown when Isak sent her pictures of the studio Even had completely refurbished for him. It wasn’t completely surprising because Even was simply that amazing, and yet his breath had still been stolen away when the scarf-turned-blindfold had been removed. The furnishings, the mural, the tiny finishes—like the child level coat hooks and the panel of wall that had been coated in blackboard paint. It was perfect. And Isak was working hard at telling the small voice at the back of his head, that nagged he didn’t deserve it, to fuck off. 

Glancing around their space—their  _ home _ —even being sparsely furnished right now it helped assure him. On the kitchen pinboard hung an array of cards. The first of that collection was from the kids, finger painted and crayon drawn—a get well card for Isak and signed with love. And it had quickly been joined: one from Sonja, his mum, Lea, and a handful more from the kids because Chris had just developed a sudden and keen interest in card making. The smallest and most precious one, delivered along with flowers at his dorm, was a tiny bluebell-covered love letter from Even. This  _ was _ his, he had a place here and it was clear for any doubting notions to see for themselves.

“Was there a question there you wanted me to answer mum?”

“ _ I can’t remember, _ ” she admitted with a laugh. “ _ How’s it coming _ ?”

“The cheese is on. The oven is preheated,” he added, the temperature light was off. “How long?” 

“Forty-five minutes. But set the timer for thirty-five, so you can check.”

Isak slid the food onto the shelf and closed the door quickly, dabbing his shirt against his face from the wave of heat expelled. “Do I need to set a timer? Can’t I play it by ear—or nose, or whatever?”

_ “Isak put the timer on.” _

“OK, OK,” he huffed but did as he was told before placing his palms on the work-top. There was nothing for him to do but sit around and wait, there was nothing to distract him—

_ “Now you can relax,” _ she said. But Isak was oblivious again.

Arms wrapped around his waist and a nose at his neck, with no warning. Even was at his back, pushing him against the drawers as he pulled flush against his body. It seemed his dick hadn’t got any softer since that short video. Yet his lips  _ were _ soft and busy the moment they touched him…

“Fuck.”

_ “Isak? Are you OK? Did you burn yourself? _

“No, no. It’s ah—” he broke off, swallowing as Even thumbed at the waistband of his shorts. “It's a delivery. I’ll call you back.” he managed to stammer out. 

There was a telling pause. “ _ OK, well if you don’t get around to it don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow. The room is all ready and— _ ” she cleared her throat, cutting her own wandering thoughts off. “ _ Anyway, say hello to the delivery driver for me, _ ” she added, snickering.

“I will,” Isak muttered. But he had no room to wonder about his mum’s mystic ability to be in the room and know the things she  _ shouldn’t _ know as she hung up. A love bite was being enthusiastically created on his throat. 

“Jesus Christ, Even. You can’t just sneak up on me,” he admonished with no real conviction. A hand was sneaking up his stomach, under his shirt, before it found a nipple and teased.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, breath hot when he spoke.

Isak snorted. “No, you’re not.”

“I know. But I’m trying to be, does that count?” His fingers pushed their way into Isak’s shorts with the question, idly stroking patterns on the skin they uncovered, provoking a groan. “Is that a yes?”

A yes? Yes to what? “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” Even’s hands grew bolder, dipping lower, palm moving over the base of Isak’s cock. Did Even really expect coherency when he was this fast and full-on?

A gentle laugh was exhaled, air teasing against Isak’s throat. “You smell like bechamel sauce.” His voice was thick and low. 

Isak turned, fighting against the persistence of Even’s hands to reduce him to a boneless mess in the kitchen. Tilting his head up, he resisted the urge to groan again. The persistence hadn’t died, Even was taking the opportunity to palm his ass now. “Bechamel sauce doesn’t smell of anything.”

“Lasagna-ey then.”

“And that does it for you?”

“Apparently.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “Is there anything that doesn’t turn you on?”

“When you’re involved? Probably not,” he said with a grin before bearing down and claiming Isak’s mouth. And Isak gave it to him, moaning into a kiss that was deep and vigorous within a heartbeat. Even’s body was firm against him, hips gripped tight and held firm. There was only one way this was going. 

“I have to keep an eye on this,” Isak said when they parted for air. “If we’re quick,” he added, a smirk tugged at his lips, the urge to playfully snipe was irresistible. “But that’s not usually a problem.”

Even’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened in half-mocked shock. It was quite possibly one of Isak’s favourite expressions, it never failed to turn his tummy into a swarm of drunken butterflies. “What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

The smirk wasn’t going anywhere, Isak was barely repressing laughter. “It’s not a  _ bad _ thing. It’s not like I last  _ much _ longer.” And that one last dig was perhaps the last straw; making it a competition was dangerous. 

Eyes narrowing, Even glanced at the oven timer. “Twenty-eight minutes... it’s a good thing I like my lasagna crispy.” Isak intended to extend his flag of peace and apologise, but a yelp escaped his mouth in the place of words as he was half picked up and half dragged from the kitchen. The surprised snort of laughter turned into a grunt as his elbow banged against the doorway to their bedroom. “Fuck,” Even huffed. “Are you OK, baby?” 

“Yeah, it was just—” he was cut off from the force of the mattress hitting his back as Even flung him down on the bed. Evidently that was enough reassurance.

“Good.” And with that one perfunctory word, Isak’s shorts were dragged down his hips. He didn’t think it was going to be possible to get tired of the way Even was so easy to boil over when it came to this and them. It was hard to accept that this man reacted so quickly and strongly towards him, unwilling to wait until they could be alone and make love to show his eagerness. And then those hands would be everywhere, and his mouth, those eyes would be watching… the thought alone could undo Isak. And they did on the rare occasions he had to get himself off. Yes, it was hard to accept but he would never voice those thoughts, he would absorb this and everything else Even wanted to give him. Anything else was purely ungrateful. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he murmured. His shirt was pushed up and Even’s lips were on him, kissing over his chest, body pressed between Isak’s legs. Fingers threading through soft blonde hair, Isak watched as his nipple was slowly teased by the tip of Even’s tongue. “Work? What happened to work?” he managed to ask, a groan swiftly punctuating the question. There was apparently lots to do before tomorrow: stocktake and ordering.

“Mikael sent me home for being lovesick.” He spoke against Isak’s body, moving from the left side of Isak’s chest to the right, manipulating another hard peak. A wet trail was left where he roamed as well as eager blood, coursing beneath flushing skin. His body was coming alive in a way only Even could provoke.

“Lovesick?” Isak scoffed but grinned nonetheless. His mirth quickly died, replaced by a low whimper, as Even gripped the soft of his inner thigh, pushing it higher as the trail began to wind a slow way south. 

The hum that Even made vibrated against him, his stomach tightening in apprehension. “You’re way too hot to be left up here on your own.” It didn’t seem fair that Even was fully clothed and so determined at wielding control when Isak was barely wearing his shirt. But there was something about that thought and the feel of Even’s clothing against his bareness, the scrape of his belt buckle over vulnerable skin… 

Isak wanted to laugh at Even’s reasoning. At some point, he would have to stick it out through a full shift. Yet between his unconvincing arguments and Even’s capable mouth, his comebacks turned to mist. The only thing left to him, a handful of words that always seemed to flow from his tongue easily when salacious warmth coaxed him. “ _ Fuck _ .” Even hummed again, approval at the response he’d garnered, this time the vibrations travelling down Isak’s cock as it was encompassed by lips and tongue. 

Perhaps he should have been used to the sensations by now, but they never seemed to lessen. The way Even held him—fingers teasing and mouth owning—the same stupefied disposition settled heavily in Isak’s bones. He was quite sure there was nothing he wouldn’t let Even do. His mind was already eager to feel Even take him, demand from his body until pleasure wrecked the dam. 

Anticipation overwhelmed him, and Isak bucked his hips as Even took him deep into his mouth. This time it was a huff of laughter that was muffled against Isak’s cock. He knew then that this wasn’t going to be quick; he was going to be strung-out. The firm and slow movement of Even’s tongue punctuated that thought, swirling around his head, sliding along the slit, undoubtedly relishing what was eagerly leaked.

Fingers tightening in Even’s hair and jaw clenched, Isak tried to hold on to some semblance of composure. Not daring to look down—because that really would bring about an abrupt end—Isak managed to grunt out an order, “Just fuck me already.” Confidence was followed by nothing less than a pathetic mewl, sliding off his tongue as Even’s mouth left him—part relief and part exasperation left in its wake. But if he took Even with no preparation, the momentary discomfort would be a welcome distraction from this severe hedonism...

“I thought you said you lasted longer than me? I haven’t even started yet, baby.” To empathise his point, Even lifted one of Isak’s legs, using it as leverage to roll him onto his stomach in the centre of the bed. And Isak put up absolutely no fight whatsoever. His fingers curled in the sheets as Even’s clothed body pressed down on his back, breath hot in his ear while eager fingers pushed the already hitched t-shirt higher until it slipped over Isak’s head. Then lips were at his neck, teeth teased his shoulder as Even drew gentle patterns over Isak’s ass and down his thighs. Those slow paths began to burn, Isak’s sensitivity heightened with each panted breath against the mattress. 

And Even hadn’t started yet? How much further was he going to take this?

“I was joki—” 

“I wasn’t.” Even’s voice was so deep, Isak could taste the lust in his words. At least he wasn’t alone in being absurdly aroused so quickly, he said as much with the unguarded groan that was muffled by cotton as Even proved the unspoken notion. Hips rolling against Isak’s ass, his clothed cock was obvious and provocative against the bare skin it met. “It’s hard to resist you making those noises,” he added, lips drawing a line of kisses between Isak’s shoulder blades, “but I’ll try.” 

Why? Why did he need to resist? Before Isak rallied the brain cells necessary to pose the question, it was answered when Even reached the small of his back; light presses of his lips becoming long swipes of his tongue. 

“You know I’ll be useless if you do that.” Despite the plea, he did nothing to stop the advance. 

“But that’s what I want.” Soft sucks and nips, inflicted by careful teeth, all over soft full muscle made Isak flinch and melt between one breath and the next. Expectation was making his moans turn to whimpers, but it was clear that any impatient words would only draw this out. “I love it when you’re so useless your smart mouth stops working.” Even proved once more that he could read Isak like a book. 

Firm hands parted him, exposing Isak at his weakest point. But that spot was eager to feel attention, in any way Even would give it. That still didn’t prepare Isak. His body almost jolted out of Even’s grasp when the warmth of his tongue pushed against him, a slow fluid motion from perineum to coccyx—every millimetre of skin passed was encompassed and provoked. Even hummed in satisfaction before retracing the path, and Isak’s body flipped into reverse, hips tilting up and driving back, so obviously desperate in its need for Even’s touch. 

“You can be so good,” Even murmured against him, breath teasing skin that felt on fire. This was getting out of hand now and Isak would address these remarks and this tone… just not right now. 

His fingers gripped to the point they ached and his face was flushed. Even began to make slow circles with the tip of his tongue before that same irresistible sensation pushed against him, easing into Isak’s body before it was gone again, and those long thorough licks worked over him once more. 

Whimpering, Isak’s whole body began to shake. “Baby, please, I can’t—” he was cut off once more as Even licked inside him again before his lips latched on to him, kissing and sucking the soaked skin. Isak was never sure if it was the sensations themselves or the way Even was so enthusiastic about eating him that made him crumble so pathetically. Either way, there was nothing he could do if this persisted. His cock was solid and leaking against his stomach and the sheets, pleading in its own frustrated way. “I’m gonna come, Even.” The words belted from his chest urgently. 

A sigh, consisting mostly of relief, eased from his lungs when Even moved away in response to the plea. Most of Isak  _ was _ relieved considering it seemed Even didn’t intend to stop until he was through, regardless of whether Isak’s orgasm arrived early. But part of him complained, yearning to come while Even’s tongue was working him. “I don’t want you to come yet,” he said simply as he knelt. Gripping his hips Even jerked Isak’s ass back onto his lap. 

There was movement while Isak caught his breath, too stimulated and simpleminded to even glance back over his shoulder. Even didn’t allow much reprieve and when his touch returned it was obvious what he’d done. The already wet skin didn’t justify how slick those long fingers were, nor how easily they slid inside of Isak. Whimpers turned to mewls as Even worked two fingers into his body. He had more than enough knowledge of how Isak worked for his movements to be precise, quickly finding yet another weak spot to manipulate. 

Slack-jawed, spit pooled below Isak’s mouth as he filled the bedroom with senseless sounds. Did Even think he was going to last any longer like this? Especially while his cock hung between Even’s clothed thighs, the material moving against his strained flesh with every drive of Even’s hand. Isak was meeting each blow, canting his hips in a stuttered feeble movement—it was all he could give. This was enough to finish him yet he still craved more. 

“Baby, you’re so sexy like this.” Isak could hear a zip opening, anticipation danced over his skin, every muscle tightening and quivering in need. “I wanna fuck you so bad but I love seeing you like this. You’re a mess.” The statement was growled, Isak shivered. Each and every time they made love, Even seemed to acquire new skills to leave Isak senseless. Now it was dirty talk. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he managed to mutter through numb lips. Fingers eased from him and then Even was leaning over his body again, he’d gripped his own cock and Isak could feel his knuckles pass over his ass as Even stroked himself. If he was left unfucked for another minute, he could quite possibly cry without feeling the least bit pathetic about it. 

“Please? What do you want?”

“ _ You _ ,” the answer was desperate. 

“But you already have me.”

Isak could hear his smirk, even with his eyes closed. “I need your dick.” Even didn’t move or reply. Swallowing, Isak tried to think of what more he could add to persuade. “Please, fuck me, baby,  _ please _ .” That was enough. The head of Even’s cock pushed between the softness of his cheeks, rubbing firmly against slick skin, and with no force needed at all slotted against Isak, nudging relaxed and eager muscle. 

Rolling his hips slowly, Even eased into him. No resistance met the shallow thrust yet Even took his time, maintaining his teasing—perhaps trying to control his own orgasm, too. Either way, Isak was too spaced out to demand more. This was what he needed, what he  _ craved _ ; Even over him, inside of him, forcing space for himself so intimately, all while deep and desperate groans were made somewhere above Isak’s head, answering his own. 

All he could do was breathe while quickly adjusting to the sensation. That stillness was short-lived, Isak needed urgence—fuck Even trying to last. Filling his lungs, Isak drove back, forcing Even’s cock deeper. Fingers bit into his waist as Even grunted and fell back to kneel. Those strong hands dictated that Isak move, too. The thrusts began to fall harder, their bodies meeting each other as a pace evolved—much faster than Even’s fingers had moved. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” 

Isak could only moan at the praise, head still lax on the bed while his thighs trembled. Skin hit skin drumming an obscene beat into space not filled with verbal adulation. Even was driving as deep as he could, the tempo hurtling out of control. Isak was lightheaded. Whenever he came there was no way his body was giving warning—let alone pass that warning along to Even. 

A rough thrust brought their bodies flush, pushing a choked moan from Isak as his knees gave. Even shifted again, body pushing down against Isak’s back. Hips rocking forward, he seated himself so firmly, so  _ completely _ , that Isak was sure he shouldn’t be able to breathe. “I want you to feel me,” he said, voice a low vibration moving through every particle Isak was comprised of. “I want you to feel me tomorrow, like this,” he emphasised the point by rocking against Isak once more. “Cos I can’t fuck you until you scream there.” 

“ _ Even _ ,” It was all that was left to him, the sensations and the words were too much. Where had Even learned to talk like this? They would have to talk about this later, but now he needed relief. He wanted to feel Even lose himself inside of him. “Wanna feel you come,” he panted as if he’d run a marathon, “inside.” Isak’s voice was hoarse and it came out a whisper but Even heard all the same. 

Instead of more, like Isak expected, Even pulled back, slipping free from Isak’s body. “Not like this,” he said roughly. Gripping a leg, Isak was turned again, flopping bonelessly to his back. Before he had a chance to complain about the lack of cock in his ass, Even moved against him, pulling Isak close and shrugging one limp leg over his shoulder. The remaining ghosts of sense dissipated when Even thrust, there was no tease this time. Isak’s hungry body welcomed him, every solid inch. “I want to see your face,” he panted, “I love the face you make.”

It was impossible to blush while already so ruddy. Isak’s eyes fluttered open, gasping when they did as they found a stern expression on Even’s face. Sweat had broken across his furrowed brow and he was barely holding on himself—Isak knew and adored the face Even made just as well, vocalising that praise at this moment was outside of his range of skills. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway and his fly open, but otherwise his clothing remained, it was a contrast to how bare and vulnerable Isak was. That thought was another stimulant he didn’t need right now. Even had drawn his lower lip between his teeth, biting down, and his gaze roamed from where their bodies met to Isak’s face. He knew just how to hold Isak, how to tilt him to hit the right spot—and he was doing just that, as recklessly and relentlessly as he’d ever fucked Isak before. 

Body shaking, Isak gasped ragged breaths, his fingers fiercely held skin and threaded through damp hair, clinging to Even as he was possessed— barely aware of the trickle of cum slipping down his stomach. There was no choice or alternative, Even was forcing his orgasm from his body like the cries that scorched his throat as they raced for freedom. 

“Baby,  _ come _ ,” Even pled despite the commanding words. 

Vision blurring, Isak’s last frayed thread was slashed. The warmth building where Even’s body hit his own, exploded outwards, flooding Isak’s entire body. He shook, numbness blooming in his extremities while his core convulsed. The last remnants of his consciousness focussed on the heat spilt between them, dripping down his chest, unaware of his fingernails digging deep, against Even’s shirt and finding flesh despite the barrier. His final, drawn-out sob earned a handful of cuss words, tumbling from Even’s mouth. Body now water, Isak’s arms fell to the sheets, and he could muster no complaint as Even thrust home a dozen more times before surrender—coming hard and deep, pulsing furiously within Isak’s quivering body.

Simple, full breaths were all that sounded in their room for the minutes that followed, time thick and slow as it crept around them. Even had collapsed onto Isak, nose in his neck, and neither had the inclination to move a muscle. 

“Where—” Isak began before working moisture into his mouth, “where did that come from.” 

Even shrugged, apart from that didn’t move an inch—laying like a dragon on his hoard. Isak should have been irritated by the dead weight, especially after that show, but it felt  _ nice _ . And it was Isak who began to stroke gentle patterns through Even’s hair. “I don’t know, it just felt right.” 

Isak snickered. “It did, huh?” 

A humming sound was the reply before Even pushed himself up onto one elbow, peering down and raising an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me that didn’t feel good.”

“I feel completely  _ destroyed _ .” 

That coaxed a grin that was entirely too smug. “I did have a point to prove.” And Even wasn’t wrong. Perhaps he would have to watch his mouth from now on… or not. 

Right or wrong, there was no way he was doing much now. “Well, you have to take responsibility for this. Packing needs to be finished and the food. And you need to clean me up and yourself. I’m useless, so…” he trailed off and shrugged like it made sense. Which it did, to Isak. “I guess you’re going to be busy.”

Even sighed but didn’t look displeased about it. Apparently it was a fair bargain. Leaning forward, he pushed a kiss to Isak’s forehead. “Gladly.” Rolling on to his back, Even took him along. Now it was Isak’s turn to sprawl over him. 

Isak toyed with the open shirt, letting his fingers run over cotton and skin. It had only been a week since they’d unofficially moved in together, two weeks since he was in the hospital, and there had been a lot of change. Even was building confidence in himself, desires and needs, and Isak was gaining security in their relationship. Not just their relationship, but within this new family unit. What he had now had seemed too much to ever hope for. 

Yet here they were. 

“And I still owe you,” he sighed, getting comfortable and dragging one side of the covers over himself. He needed to wash—well, more accurately, Even needed to wash him. 

“For what?” 

“For all  _ that _ . Next time it’s my turn.”

Even grunted a short laugh. “I look forward to it.”

“Might do it tomorrow,” he mused with a smirk. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Even looking down at Isak as Isak raised his chin to meet his gaze. “Come on, we have to make a good impression,” he sputtered registering the unrepentant look reflected back. 

“She’s known me since I was born, I don’t need to worry about impressions.”

“But—” Even was cut off by an alarm; the oven. 

“I believe that’s for you.”

Eyes darting between Isak and the door Even sighed. “OK, I’m getting it, but we’re not done here. OK? You can’t have your mum thinking I have no respect for her household,” he said, rolling from the bed and adjusting his trousers. Isak watched him with a smirk. He would be moving around somewhat carefully for a while, it was only right that Even danced on some eggshells, too. 

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” he offered. 

An amused expression was cast over Even’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?” He shot back with a grin, before loping out of the room. 

Yet, within the soft jibe, Isak could hear the genuine thread that held the words together. Even really did need Isak, just as much as Isak needed him—as much as that notion astonished him, Isak was accepting it. He not only had to, but he wanted to. 

Isak Valtersen deserved happiness, just like Even Bech Næsheim did.

Letting out a sigh, Isak couldn’t help the contentment that spread through his entirety. He imagined the clouds above the ceiling swirling grey, heavy with snow, yet he lay here in comfort and safety. No matter how cold the world grew, or how difficult life became, as long as they had this; as long as they shared this bond and love; as long as they lived in and cherished the now, everything was going to be OK.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> I can't thank you enough <3

**Author's Note:**

> As always: comments, criticism, and just general chit chat welcome.


End file.
